


Mating Games Challenge 4: The Ties That Bind

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 78,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the entries for week four of the Mating Games pornathon challenge on LJ.</p><p>For details on what this challenge is: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/504.html">FAQ</a><br/>on LJ</p><p>If you'd like to vote for any of these, you are welcome to even if you aren't a participant in this challenge. You can read how to vote and cast your votes here: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/8823.html">Voting Post</a>!</p><p>In this challenge, teams are already set so we aren't taking any new writers/artists, but you are welcome to participate as a reader/voter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (With Warnings)

1.

**Pairings: Scott/Allison**

**Warning: mentions of bloodplay (menstrual)**

_"Sorry, Scott, something came up, can I get a raincheck tonight?"_

Scott looked up at Allison’s window, standing in front of her house, phone pressed tightly to his face. "Everything okay?" He stretched his hearing to reach her, looking for any hint of danger.

Allison's heartbeat was a steady drum beneath her words. _"Yeah, it's fine, my parents just aren't going out so we wouldn't have the privacy we wanted."_ The driveway was empty and Allison's heart skipped a beat. _"We're good, right? Maybe we can do something tomorrow?"_

Scott kept listening for that skip, but none came, only the steady thrum.

_"Scott?"_

He coughed nervously and looked back up to Allison's window. "I'm outside your house."

Allison's heart raced, and he could vaguely hear her footsteps through the phone, then saw her head peek around her curtain. _"Oh. "_

He waved awkwardly with the phone, not sure what to do, waiting for Allison to make the first move. He could hear her sigh as she moved away from the window. _"Do you want to come in?"_

"I don't have to, I mean– " The call went dead.

"Scott, come on." Allison was standing in her doorway, waving him in. Scott's body felt heavy as lead, riddled with anxiety and questions, but Allison seemed fine, and if she just wanted to not see him she could've said so, not lied.

As Scott got closer to Allison, something became very apparent, and he couldn't help but blush on her behalf, then wrap her tightly up in a hug when he reached the door. "You're okay," he said, relieved, nuzzling into her neck.

He could feel her embarrassment radiating through her as she hid her face in his chest. He kissed the top of her head. "You can smell it?" Allison mumbled into his shirt, her breath warm and damp against the cotton. "God that's so embarrassing. Scott." Her hands clung tightly to him, as if she never wanted to look him the eyes again.

"Hey, hey, look at me." Scott threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her face gently, pulling her back. "I love you. All of you. No matter what." He held her back from hiding her face again by kissing her softly. She tasted sweet like always, and he never wanted her to feel shy or awkward around him, wanted to be her everything, so he kept kissing her, licking into her mouth when her hands traveled down to grab his ass and pull him closer. Her racing heart was setting up a nice rhythm.

Allison pulled away abruptly. "Oh god, we can't. We can watch a movie or something, if you want?" She gave him a peck on the lips, hands moving up his back now. "Sorry, I just get so horny and it's so awkward." Allison looked down at the floor.

"Let me." Scott pushed a lock of hair behind Allison's ear.

"What?"

"Let me." Scott traced one of his hands down Allison's body, enjoying the minute shivers under his fingertips, how responsive she was. He rested it on her hip, thumb rubbing just under her shirt.

"Scott." Her voice trembled, but she leaned in and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck. This was permission.

They broke up the kiss when Scott picked her up and carried her up to her room. He kicked the door closed, then placed her gently on the bed, crawling on after her.

He inhaled her scent as he went, practically salivating at how intense it was, and how different it was from every other time. He lifted up her shirt, going to work quickly on pulling down her sweats and underwear, then tossing them aside. He could smell how aroused she was, how it mixed with the tangy aroma of the blood.

"Scott-" Allison sounded broken as he gently spread her legs. "The towel. In the hamper."

"What?"

"Towel." Allison lifted her hips.

"Oh." Scott grabbed the black towel from the hamper and put it underneath her, and finally. _Finally._

Scott took a few deep breaths through the mouth to calm himself, else he'd shoot off on his own, and this was about Allison. So he kissed her thigh, then the closed folds of her pussy. Her whole body trembled as he brought his hand and spread her open, crimson staining his fingers on the easy slip-slide.

Allison gripped his hair, pushed him down. Scott went easily, licking and lapping to the drumming of her heart.

* * *

2.

**Pairings: Stiles/Derek, pack**

**Warning: bondage, barebacking, sharing**

Derek takes another drag from his cigarette as he watches Isaac and Boyd touch his boyfriend. Stiles has been suspended in the sling for so long that he has that glassy-eyed, well-fucked look on his face, and even though he'd tried to control himself Derek had had to put a cock ring on him to make him last. From where Derek is standing, he can see Boyd teasing Stiles' prick while Isaac licks his chest. Jesus. Stiles is the only party favor Derek wants to take home, and his patience is dissolving by the second.

The younger wolves scatter at his approach. Stiles looks helpless hanging in the air, his arms and legs pulled apart by four long chains that leave him open and vulnerable. His face flushed with heat and sex, Stiles regards him hazily through hooded eyes. The chains jerk in protest when Derek leans in for a kiss.

"S'against the rules," Stiles mumbles.

"Oh yeah?" Derek smirks. "What else is off limits?"

"No kissing, no marks, and no fucking me."

Derek drags their mouths together, then sucks a bruise on his neck. "Hmm. Doesn't seem like you're in much of a position to refuse." He traces a circle around Stiles' nipples and sniffs his throat. Watching the pack play with Stiles always maddens Derek with jealousy, but, he supposes, that's what makes the sex so hot later. Stiles is his to give, under his conditions, and he can take him back whenever he wants.

Stiles grins lazily. "Better be careful. My boyfriend's watching."

"I'll take my chances." Derek wraps his hand around Stiles' engorged cock, overly sensitive and angry red. "You've been holding out for so long."

Stiles whimpers as Derek positions himself between Stiles' parted legs. His hole is wet with a mix of lube and spit, and Derek can see how stretched he is already. He shoves in two fingers without preamble, and the sling rocks back with the force of Stiles' shudder.

"I know how much you want it, but you're still not open enough to take my cock." Derek grips Stiles' waist with one hand to hold him steady as he twists his fingers deeper, ramming into his prostate. He looks so sexy like this, the damp brown hair matted on his forehead, his lips swollen with lust, that Derek can't wait to get inside.

He unbuckles his belt as Stiles gazes at him. Derek's the only one who's allowed to fuck Stiles; no one else would dare. The conversation in the room grows softer as the pack begins to watch. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Boyd push Erica down onto the couch and climb over her. The howling is going to start earlier than usual, he can sense it.

Derek pulls open Stiles' entrance with his thumbs and pushes his cock inside. It's a tight fit, but Stiles takes it well, moaning softly and biting his lips to keep from shouting. His legs are trembling in the stirrups. Derek swivels his hips in slow arcs to prepare him, and then, unable to hold himself back, he thrusts into Stiles so hard he almost wolfs out. Derek grabs hold of either of Stiles' thighs and throws his head back as he fucks into him, a relentless assertion of ownership. Stiles is openly begging now, and Derek has just enough presence of mind left to remove the ring from Stiles' cock. His orgasm is so intense that Derek can feel Stiles' ass spasm tight around his cock, and the sight of him like that, coming apart under Derek's hand, is enough to make him lose it himself.

He breeds Stiles until he's completely spent, and just as the rest of the pack is turning feral, Derek finds himself calm and blissed out. Through the chains and leather, he manages to gather Stiles into an awkward embrace.

"Get me out of this fucking thing," Stiles demands into Derek's hair. "I can barely feel my arms anymore."

"All right, all right." Derek smiles as he straightens to unlatch the cuffs around Stiles' wrists. "How'd you get to be so kinky anyway?"

"Come on, you love me." Stiles says, looking pleased.

And indeed, Derek does.

* * *

3.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning: Mentions of mpreg and lots of schmoopy fluff (I'm not even sorry).**

"So," Stiles says, drawing out the vowel. Derek looks curiously up from the breakfast he's inhaling. Stiles licks his lips of syrup and shifts in his seat. "I think I'm ready."

Derek blinks, brow arching. In all of the many years they've been together, some things simply did not change about Derek. "Ready for what?"

Stiles squishes down a grin.

They've been mates for about eight years now. Stiles finished college last year and now enjoyed composing mythological and supernatural 'fact' books that were _actual_ fucking _fact_. The common public would see it as fantasy bullshit, but he was fine with it.

Over the course of these many years, he'd become officially mated to Derek Hale.

It was also through a series of odd, kind-of-awkward events, Stiles discovers that there was a way for humans mated to werewolves to have pups. It starts with magic and eventually ends with C-section, but that's where Deaton comes in; Stiles had more than a few private conversations with him about the subject already. All Deaton needs is his say so to get the ball rolling.

Stiles just wasn't ready for kids right away; he wanted to get through school first and to see how their relationship progressed. Now he's free of school, he can work from home, and Derek and he rarely fight.

Thus, it's time.

Derek _craves_ family. He's hinted at kids before, most times during sex which used to be weird, but Stiles quickly realized it was half instinct, half _Derek_ talking. He also learned how to talk dirty to his werewolf mate and drive him _crazy_ …

"Pups. Kids." He pops another bite of waffle in his mouth. "I'm ready to have some."

Derek drops his fork and just stares at him, mouth open just a little. Stiles can practically see the reboot symbol hovering over Derek's poor brain and he grins.

Derek eventually recovers and his face practically lights up with a smile. The utter _hope_ in it is just a touch heartbreaking. "Really?"

Stiles' grin couldn't _possibly_ get any bigger. "I didn't stutter, did I?"

Later on after a _thorough_ mauling and Derek has hauled them off to bed (they didn't really make it out of the kitchen before sexy stuff happened), Stiles is happily well-fucked. Derek is curled up against him, arm slung over his waist, face buried against his neck.

He'll tease Derek later about the idea of having babies being a turn-on for him…

"Deaton said it could take a few tries," he says, fingers curling against Derek's forearm.

"All the more fun in trying," Derek replies, playful.

Stiles just snirks. "Yeah, well. How many-… Like, what's the _max_ number of kids you'd want? 'Cause I've been thinking just two."

Derek makes a snuffling noise as he noses more at Stiles' neck. "I want however many you'll let me get away with."

Stiles laughs, shaking his head. "Oh god. I'll never get my waifish figure back."

Derek pinches him, makes Stiles squirm and laugh more. "You're not _waifish_. I'd offer to carry if the stuff worked on werewolves."

Stiles suppresses a wider grin; despite being an Alpha, Derek made sure Stiles knew there was equal opportunity between them in bed. But Stiles likes it this way. "I know you would."

Derek smiles against his skin and presses soft, tender kisses up along his neck. To that tickly spot behind his ear. "Love you."

Stiles turns and catches Derek's lips in a short, sweet kiss. Derek isn't openly expressive. Not really. So whenever Derek says _those words_ , it makes Stiles _happy_ and the soul-deep bond they share warm. "Love you too, Sourwolf," he tells Derek, barely above a whisper. Stiles pulls back some to smile again. "Do me a favor though an' gimmie a boy with your eyebrows. 'Cause it'd be a damn shame to not pass those on. They break hearts."

Derek sighs, exasperated but amused. "So long as our girl has your eyes."

"Hope the world is ready for tiny Stilinski minions."

"It isn't."

"Love you too, babe." Stiles smacks Derek's arm, smirking.

Derek catches him in a kiss.

They stay tangled for the longest time simply talking about their plans for starting a family. They even toss around names, plans for a play area. How Stiles is going to have to tell his dad that he isn't allowed to load the kids on sugar before sending them home.

Life is _damn_ good.

* * *

4.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning(s): Public arousal/completion, magically sexy soul-bond, SCHMOOP**

The first tendrils snuck up on Stiles, like they were sprouting from the ground beneath his feet, tickling up between his toes and tracing up the backs of his calves.

When Deaton told him that the tattoos would enhance his magic, he hadn’t realized that _this_ was a part of the bargain. Stiles was a born a Spark, but the tattoos made him an Empath, as well.

He’d never told Derek specifics—things he could feel around his mate as many as 1,000 miles away—because it was supposed to be _intentional._ He was only ever supposed to actively reach out to a person’s heart, not receive signals coming _at_ him. His life never did go according to the rules, though, because Stiles was paired with a werewolf. With werewolves, things tended to get intense.

Stiles’ steps slowed as he walked through the crowds of other magickers and settled in a seat in the back of a lecture on scrying, hoping Derek’s feelings would fade. He was down in Arizona for a convention of sorts, determined at least to establish connections if not learn some new things.

But, he had a connection of his own, one that was creeping up his spine and settling deep into his belly.

Derek had to be missing him.

In moments of high stress with the pack or quiet moments with Derek, Stiles could often feel an echo of warmth, fuzzy and overwhelming in Stiles’ chest, or desperate and loud coming from Derek that would settle in Stiles’ shoulders. Sometimes the wave of emotion was so strong, Stiles couldn’t move for the intensity.

This time, it was his cock twitching in his pants, and it had him shifting and gripping the seat cushion.

Stiles couldn’t help but imagine Derek lying in bed, or maybe out near the lake in the reserve, sneaking a hand under his shorts and palming at his cock while thinking about Stiles. Missing him, wanting to smell him, mark him, bite him, ride him—

A strong wave of lust crashed over him, and he felt the ghost of Derek’s palm over his cock, wrapping fingers around it and tugging.

Stiles looked around in mortification, squirming a little—and then a lot when the palm left and came back slick with spit. There was no hand on his cock, but he could feel every second of Derek’s pleasure, spreading out all over and making him sweat.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed, glad the lecturer was playing scenes from a documentary, because Stiles couldn’t—he couldn’t—

The strokes were desperate, and Stiles was leaking into his pants, thighs clenching and cock twitching as Derek thumbed over the head and twisted his palm at the top, something he’d learned from Stiles.

Stiles shuddered, grabbing at his knees and swallowing when an older woman turned around in her seat to look at the clock behind him.

Derek was getting faster and messier after a moment, and Stiles couldn’t help but jerk his hips when his balls drew up, hands scrabbling too late for the base of his cock as rolls of white-hot pleasure overtook him, Derek’s climax making him come.

Stiles found the movement in his legs in a short moment, surprisingly, and rushed out to a restroom nearby.

He dialed Derek’s number as soon as he’d caught his breath.

“Hey,” Derek answered on the first ring, still breathless.

“Derek,” Stiles said quietly. “Hi.”

“How—how’s Sedona?”

“Stupid hot,” Stiles complained, listening to Derek’s short laugh. “I was just thinking about you, so. Thought I’d call.”

He could hear the squeak of bedsprings over the line. “I was thinking about you, too. Just now,” Derek mumbled, voice gravelly.

Stiles laughed. “Yeah? Miss me?”

“God, yeah.”

Stiles hummed, listening to Derek move around their room and from the sounds of it, wet a washcloth while he held the phone against his ear with a shoulder. Stiles could see it so clearly, Derek wiping streaks of come off his stomach with the light streaming in from the bathroom window.

“I have something exciting to tell you when I get home,” Stile continued. “Also, I love you; just wanted to say that.”

“I love you, too.”

Stiles grinned.

“Can I call you tomorrow?”

“You can call me anytime, dollface,” Stiles joked. “I gotta go, though. Spilled something so I gotta go change.”

“Miss you,” Derek mumbled again, before hanging up.

Now, how to get back to the hotel?

* * *

5.

**Pairings: Stiles/Derek**

**Warnings: Bondage**

They've been together for six years. Married for four.

In general Stiles is pretty impressed with how his life turned out. For one, he’s actually alive (those teenage years were a little iffy), for two, he gets to spend every day with Derek Hale. Pretty incredible really.

The first time they had sex Stiles couldn’t shut up after. He rambled on about all the different things they could do, the positions, the kinks- anything he could think of. In the beginning they didn’t do any of those things. Being with Derek was enough and getting to have sex whenever he wanted was amazeballs.

After a few years Stiles brought up kinks again, a little nervous to share his, but also interested in Derek’s own. The conversation had gone much better than expected. After fumbling over his words for a full minute he finally spat out that he wants to be tied up.

Four years into their marriage and Derek still hasn’t tried what Stiles asked for. He isn’t complaining or anything. Most of the time he doesn’t think about it. Only when Derek suggests something he wants to try does it irritate him. He has no problem doing things for Derek-

It’s just-

He wishes Derek would reciprocate. It hurts his husband is either disgusted by what he needs or unwilling to understand. It’s all about trust and surrender. Giving over all control to someone else. Explaining it to Derek would just defeat the whole purpose so he gives up. Lets it fester and turn bitter in the back of his mind.

It’s another three years of secret discontent before things finally change.

****

Stiles wakes and tenses immediately. He can’t move, he’s naked and he’s been blindfolded. He hasn’t been kidnapped since the mermaid incident and he’s unhappy about the prospect of repeating it.

“Sh. It’s just me.”

Derek’s voice floods the room. The haze of sleep slowly dissipates and Stiles is slammed with what this really is. Both wrists and ankles are spread out across the bed and tied to a bedpost. His cock is instantly hard and dripping pre-come. Tears prick the corner of his eyes and all he can think is _finally_.

A raging inferno lights in the pit of his stomach and he squirms, moaning as the restraints hold him in place. He hasn’t been touched yet and it’s already too much. Goosebumps raise over his skin and it feels like bolts of electricity are thrumming through his body.

Two fingers caress down his left side, making him jump and then arch into the touch. He’s completely at Derek’s mercy and it’s all he’s ever wanted. The fingers stop at the bottom of his ribcage and then disappear completely. Stiles whimpers at the loss of contact. Every nerve is tingling and his senses are heightened in anticipation.

Breath tickles over his ear and his whole body shakes.

“I’m sorry I took so long. I was afraid of this, after what happened with--”

 _Kate_ Stiles minds supply.

“I’m ready now though.”

The words come out as more of a growl and Stiles grits his teeth against the wave of lust that washes over him. His dick twitches and he curls his hands into fists.

The bed shifts down by his legs and he hears the rustle of Derek moving around before the room quiets again. His heart pounds in his chest and it’s hard to breathe. The waiting is killing him.

Wet heat suddenly envelops his cock and Stiles cries from the pleasure of it, bucking his hips as much as the restraints allow.

Derek sucks him all the way down until Stiles can feel his nose press into the curls at his base.

“Oh my-- oh my god!” Stiles shouts, unable to keep quiet any longer. No sooner have the words left his lips is Derek gone. Leaving Stiles cock throbbing and stinging as the air meets the sloppy mess Derek has made of it.

“Keep quiet.” It’s a command, not a request. A shiver runs down Stiles spine. He clenches his jaw to keep from calling out when Derek takes him down his throat again. It’s all too much and he feels himself shake with the overwhelming pleasure. A possessive hands comes to rest on his belly, a firm reminder of who he belongs to. It’s more than he can take and he finally loses it. He comes in long spurts down Derek’s throat, mouth dropping open in a silent scream.

* * *

6.

**Pairings: Danny/Stiles**

**Warning: None**

**Title: Six Kinds of Cookies, Ways to Love**

“Stiles? Hey, I’m ho-whoa, what happened in here?”

Stiles looks up from the Kitchenaid that is running smoothly through the brownie mix he’s currently working on as Danny comes through the kitchen door. They’ve only been living together for two weeks, so Stiles figures it’s okay that he still gets little butterflies in his stomach when Danny comes home from work - to _their_ house - each day and finds him before he even sets down his bag. It’s cute and sweet and so very much Danny.

Even though today is a hard day for Stiles, he still feels that flutter of excitement and it makes him feel slightly better.

Danny wanders through the breakfast room and looks at the six kinds of cookies spread out on the table before walking over to the island and sniffing at the four trays of brownies cooling there. Stiles had been excited when they’d found this house with _this_ kitchen. Stiles loves that there are two ovens, allowing him to do things like bake a zillion things in one day when he’s feeling like the world is crashing in around him.

Ever since Stiles learned how to bake at his mom’s elbow when he was only 10, baking has always been soothing for him. Even when the pain and hurt had been excruciating the first time he pulled out her recipe book and started her favorite cake recipe after she passed away, he found something comforting in it. That night he and his dad shared the cake that she would always make for dad’s birthday. It had almost been a celebration, for no reason at all other than it was _birthday_ cake. They didn’t talk about her or talk about the fact that Stiles had maybe thrown a very heavy, very breakable glass measuring cup at the wall about halfway through, but they’d smiled and ate and breathed together.

And then they’d both silently gone off to bed. Stiles cried himself to sleep that night and he’s pretty sure his dad did, too.

Danny slides up behind Stiles and hooks his chin over his shoulder, hands resting gently on his hips. “What’s up?” he asks, gentle and soft.

Stiles shrugs and turns off the mixer, trying to tamp down the pain threatening to break through the surface again. “Breaking in the new kitchen?” He doesn’t mean for it to be a question, but that’s how it comes out.

And Danny, who isn’t even a werewolf, is still a human lie detector - or, at least where Stiles in concerned - shakes his head. “Try again.”

Stiles sighs. “It’s my mom’s birthday.” It’s barely over a whisper, but Danny is close enough to hear it. Stiles tries to unlock the mixer to put the new batch of brownies into a pan, but Danny stills his hands with his own and turns him.

He presses a soft kiss to Stiles’ mouth and then another. “Tell me.”

Stiles loves Danny, but he’s never really told him much about his mom. It’s not been on purpose. Honestly, Stiles _never_ really talks about his mom to anyone. It’s been almost 15 years since she passed, but every anniversary, every birthday, still cripples him. Talking about her only seems to make it worse.

But Stiles... well, he needs this and he doesn’t trust anyone as much as he trusts Danny. So, he nods.

And Danny smiles softly at him.

And Stiles hands him an apron.

And Danny helps him bake more brownies and cookies.

And Stiles talks until it’s past midnight and his voice goes hoarse.

Later, after Danny coaxes all the sadness out of Stiles, he replaces it. Replaces it with wet, longing kisses and gentle caresses; with his open mouth on every inch of Stiles’ skin and experienced fingers opening him up, making him ache and beg for _more more more_ ; with the long, slow slide of Danny’s hard length inside of him, filling him, making him sweat and shake and come apart beneath him; with whispered _I love you’s_ that make him feel whole again.

And then he holds Stiles tightly in his arms and let’s him cry because he misses his mom every day and it hurts to talk about her. Cries because sometimes you just need your mom.

In the morning, still naked and wrapped up in Danny’s arms, the warm sun streaming in the windows, Stiles feels better - _lighter_ \- than he has in a long time.

All because of Danny.

All because Danny loves him.

* * *

7.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning: Biting. Mention of an unintentionally initiated mate bond.**

Stiles’ sighs contentedly as he slowly sinks down on Derek’s cock. Gazing through his lashes at his boyfriend, he frowns a bit at the distracted look he finds there. With an irritated huff, he plants his hands on Derek’s chest, rises up, and slams himself back down.

“What was that for?” he growls, his gaze finally sharpening.

“Well, it didn’t seem like me riding your dick was enough to keep your attention,” Stiles answers petulantly, leaning forward to catch Derek’s lips in a wet, messy kiss. Derek sighs into the kiss, but Stiles can tell he’s not giving it his all.

Sitting up with a frustrated sigh, Stiles starts to move off his boyfriend. Derek’s hands on his hips tighten and hold him still. “Where are you going?”

“You don’t seem all that into it tonight,” Stiles says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Derek stares, dumbfounded, and gestures towards the rock hard cock Stiles is currently _sitting on_. “I beg to differ.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Okay, yeah. I’ll give you that one.” He rolls his hips and watches Derek’s eyelids flutter when he moans. “But you’re, like, a million miles away, dude. What gives?”

Derek sighs and flexes his hands on Stiles’ hips, watching as he drags one up Stiles’ side and across his chest to rest above his heart. “I was thinking...”

“Yeah. Got that. What I don’t get is _why_ when I’m _riding your cock_!” Putting action to words, Stiles rolls his hips and leans back on his hands, driving Derek deep. They both gasp and moan with the movement.

“S-Stiles,” Derek pants. “I want...” His voice trails off on a wailing moan as Stiles repositions himself, leaning forward and licking a broad stripe over the scar sitting directly over Derek’s heart.

Derek pants, and he buries his hand in Stiles’ hair, holding him there. “That, Stiles. I want to finish...”

Stiles jerks up and freezes, staring wide-eyed. “That” is the half formed mating bond Stiles inadvertently initiated months ago. They had been dating for almost a year by then, but had just started having sex.

Derek hadn’t even considered that it might be a possibility, even given Stiles’ love of biting. The younger man hadn’t known what it meant to bite deep enough to draw blood while releasing deep within his werewolf lover. Derek had been so surprised, he’d pushed Stiles off of him when he felt the first stirrings, wild-eyed and completely unready.

Stiles had been very understanding, leaving the decision of completing the bond entirely up to Derek. They hadn’t spoken of it again.

They both feel the tattered ends of the bond, though. Especially in times of high stress or when one or the other is threatened. Or late at night, when they are wrapped around each other, deep in that intimacy that close couples share.

Stiles takes a deep breath and looks closely at Derek. “Are you sure?” he whispers hopefully. “You really --”

“Stiles!” Derek growls with a smile. “Yes! God knows why, but I am absolutely, 100% positive that I want to bind myself to you for the rest of our lives.” His smile turns predatory; and he pulls Stiles down, crushing their lips together. With a flick of his tongue, he pries Stiles’ mouth open, delving deep and flipping them over.

Driving into his soon-to-be-mate’s welcoming warmth, he tangles his hand in Stiles’ hair and pulls his head to the side, baring his neck. Stiles moans turn to deep, loud cries as Derek sets a brutal rhythm and sucks bruises into his neck. He feels the sting of Derek’s fangs as they scrape against his skin.

Derek’s rhythm starts to falter, and he reaches down between them to wrap his hand around Stiles’ dick, jerking it just this side of too hard as he buries himself deep and speeds his hips.

“Close,” Stiles moans, arching his back and driving himself down hard onto Derek’s cock. “So close.”

Derek hums in agreement and sets his teeth to Stiles’ chest, right above his heart. His orgasm rips through him, and he bites deep. Stiles wails as he spurts across his belly and Derek’s hand, and then gasps as love and contentment and possessiveness engulf him.

His laughter is full of joy as he feels the effects of the completed mate bond. He can see it reflected in Derek’s eyes and revels in it as it flows between them, warm and free and easy.

* * *

8.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles/Lydia**

**Warning: mpreg**

Stiles stands at the sink, reaching for the sprayer, and _again_ his belly ends up soaked. It’s the third time this week and he’s really thinking about swearing off dishes for _reasons_ that everyone else in the house ought to be able to understand. “Derek!” He steps back, pushing at the suds that make a line across his shirt, then tries to tug the shirt back down into place. “Lydia!”

“Is there a problem?” Lydia leans against the doorway, forehead furrowed as she contemplates one nail. Stiles glares at her. Her petite build. Her _skinny_ stomach.

“This is your fault,” he snaps, and gestures at his soaked front. “ _Your_ fault. Two guys, one girl, and here I was thinking that when we got around to having kids it’d be _you_ who carried them. But _no_. It’s Stiles. Good old reliable _Stiles_ who gets to be as big as a cow and waddling all over the place and not able to reach the damned sprayer on the sink in order to do the dishes and _maybe_ it’d be nice if someone _else_ decided to do them for a while until this is over.”

Lydia blinks. “Are you done?”

“With the dishes or ranting?”

“Ranting.” Lydia steps closer, framing his face before kissing him quickly. “You’re beautiful, Stiles, and you are _not_ as big as a cow. A small dog, perhaps. Or a wolf.” She flashes a small smirk. “And you are well aware that if I could get pregnant, we would probably both be carrying children right now.”

“There’s irony for you: one magical human male can get pregnant, and his werewolf immune human wife can’t.” Stiles can’t help the slight whine in his tone. He’s hot, he’s wet, and he’s frustrated. It’s _summer_ , and he still has at least two more months before this is done and someone else gets to hold the baby.

Her gaze softens. “I like it when you call me wife, even though I’m legally married to Derek.” Her hand cups his face, then glides lower, toying with the buttons on his shirt. “Are you upset that we’ve done this? That we’re starting a family now?”

“I might’ve liked to finish my degree—Lydia, what are you doing?”

“Stripping you.” Her gaze is guileless. “Your shirt’s wet. You should take it off. I think your pants are wet, too.”

“I wouldn’t know, I can’t see them.” But Stiles doesn’t need to see her hand when it presses against his crotch, kneading him through his sweats. “Okay, so, maybe if they aren’t yet, they will be if you keep going like that.”

She kisses him again, fingers pushing his shirt open as she glides down his body, kisses following the trail of hair down his chest to his belly. She nuzzles the bulge of their child, hands firm against his taut skin while her mouth moves lower.

Lydia teases him through the sweats first, making _sure_ that his sweats are soaked before she finally pushes them down and lets him thrust into her mouth. He can’t see her, but he can feel her.

At a soft growl, he glances up. Derek is there, watching them both, gaze fond and possessive. Stiles jerks his head in silent invitation, sighing when Derek moves behind him, cradling his body and giving him that lovely strength to lean into.

Stiles lets Derek hold him up when his knees go weak as he gives himself over to Lydia’s ministrations. She is an expert with a cock in her mouth, teasing him unmercifully, nail gently scraping just behind his balls until he quivers from need. “Oh fuck, Lydia… please… Just…” He doesn’t have words for this, for the way she makes him feel.

Stiles just barely catches the flash of movement; Derek’s fingers thread through Lydia’s hair, holding her as his hips push Stiles into her, fucking her throat deeply. She swallows and he loses control, spilling into her mouth.

She kisses him, all bitter musk, then pulls Derek in for a kiss as well. “Our Stiles needs to be reminded just how much we love him,” she murmurs. She steps back to shed her blouse, bra a bright flash of crimson across her breasts.

Derek lifts him onto the counter; Stiles no longer cares about the water when his ass lands in a puddle. All he cares is that he has his lovers and they will take care of him. He can get through anything—even pregnancy—with his family close by.

* * *

9.

**Pairings: Sheriff Stilinski/Mama Stilinski**

**Warning: n/a**

He found her in the woods, naked and looking skyward; her dark hair a sable line between her pale shoulders.

John stepped closer and grabbed for his weapon. “Elyce?”

She turned and her eyes were wet with unshed tears. He immediately closed the distance between them, draped his deputy’s jacket over her.

“I miss it,” she whispered against his shirt.

“You could...” he trailed off, unsure of what he could say.

“No.” She pulled back and shook her head, a weak smile on her face, “But tonight?”

The wind whipped through the trees, but around them the air remained still. He tipped her face up until he could look into her amber eyes. He pulled his jacket tighter and kissed her smile When she deepened the kiss, he was helpless to stop.

“Talk to me,” he whispered against her cheek.

“There is a story ...” she held his hand in hers, ran her lips over his wedding band, “of a witch who bound herself to her human lover on the final waxing moon of summer.”

“Elyce.” She unbuttoned his top button. When he raised an eyebrow, she moved to the next, then the next, then started to pull his open shirt from his pants.

“I love you, John,” she looked up at him and he saw only her. “Let me?”

“And the consequences of using magic?” He raised her hand and kissed her open palm. “Do you remember last time?”

“This is different,” her fingers touched his mouth. “This is for us.”

He leaned into her touch, needed to feel more of her. “If anyone comes--”

“No one will come,” she moved her hands up his chest, “Trust me.”

She slid his jacket off and worked at his buckle with sure, steady hands. He ran his fingers down her stomach and felt her fingers tighten on his belt. He brushed his lips over her collar and laughed weakly when she shivered. She pulled him to the ground and grinned as he lay over her, when he weight he shifted against her bare skin.

“Outside?” he whispered into her neck and steadied himself by her heartbeat there. His skin was hot where it touched hers, his clothes too confining.

“Yes,” she whispered, leaned her head back. A soft breeze beside them and his shoes and pants appeared in a neat pile.

“I hate when you do that,” he laughed weakly against her.

“You love when I do that.” His shirt was neatly folded, too.

“I love _you_ ,” he whispered. He wanted her, he was desperate to feel her come apart. He licked the place beside her ear that made her arch into him, then her jaw. He bit lightly along her neck, her shoulder.

He shivered as she ran her fingers through his hair. He lost himself in the feel of her, in the way her body fit to his. Then she lifted her hips into his as he took her breast in his hand, followed with his mouth. He whispered mindless promises against her skin and she repeated them. The air crackled into soft globes of light casting a warm glow over them.

“I’ll always love you,” she breathed and his teeth skimmed her stomach. He shivered as her fingers played over his shoulders, when her hand clung to him. Something in him sped up, urgency took over. His heart fell for her, for them.

He ran his hand over her thigh, kissed her knee. Her thigh, then her belly. He wrapped her leg around his waist, ran his hand over the softness of her skin. He slid into her and stilled, her silken heat surrounded him and tightened around him.

He set a slow pace and she met him each time; her hands moved over his shoulders, her legs around him. His skin burned where her hands trailed and his mind flashed with images of them together like this. The air shivered as they moved together, as her power grew. Magic vibrated through them, and the air pulsed. She moaned his name against his shoulder as the orgasm poured over her. The power around them surged through him, into him, and he rode the wave of lust, love and need.

Spent, he lay beside her and tucked her tightly against his side. Around them the lights pulsed in erratic beat. His mind was blanked and he fought to speak. “Great story and,” he squeezed her shoulder, “I really love magic.”

Beside him, Elyce laughed.

* * *

10.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles, Scott/Isaac (Stiles/Isaac, Derek/Scott, Stiles/Scott)**

**Warning: magic makes them do it**

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” Stiles waves his arm agitatedly. Only, his left arm is bonded to Scott’s right one like there’s an invisible elastic. Scott tugs back, accidently flinging Stiles into his body, knocking them into the brick wall of Derek’s loft.

Isaac snorts, ducking his head to hide laughter.

“This isn’t funny,” Derek snaps, reading his ancient-looking book.

“You’re telling us,” Scott says slowly, “that to stop us from sticking together _his_ significant other has to give _me_ , uh--”

“A blowjob,” Stiles says, “would be the translation. And yours to me.”

Derek closes the book carefully. “Yes. That’s how the witches’ magic works.”

It’s quiet for a moment, then Stiles bursts out, “What’s the point of that?” This time Scott doesn’t try to stop his flailing.

“I don’t think it’s about you two.”

“We hurt their coven last week,” Isaac says, gesturing between Derek and himself. They share a complicated look.

Derek nods. “Now they’re trying to hurt our pack.”

“Tear you apart with jealousy?” Stiles suggests. “Assholes.”

Stiles and Scott share a look of their own, with an eyebrow wiggle and a shrug. Stiles sighs, running the hand not invisibly stuck to Scott’s through his hair. “So this is a thing that has to happen.”

Derek approaches, frames Stiles’ face in his big hands, and kisses Stiles deeply.

It feels … weird. Physically, Stiles can tell he's being kissed, but there’s no connection, nothing that he usually associates with the pure awesomeness of kissing Derek. It’s empty.

Beside them, Scott gasps. His eyes are glassy and he’s biting his lower lip.

“ _You_ felt that?” Stiles asks. “Not fair.” 

Scott turns a floundering look to Isaac. Isaac leans down, dragging his mouth over Scott’s, soft and sensual.

“Holy fuck,” Stiles breathes out, suddenly weak in the knees, lips tingling. It’s not like when he’s with normally with Derek, there’s a different flavour to it, but he _feels_ it.

“That’s it,” Scott says, nosing at Isaac’s cheek. “I want my boyfriend back. Go suck off my best friend, okay?” Isaac laughs softly, nuzzling closer. Stiles seriously doubts any jealousy will happen there.

Derek frowns as he assesses Stiles carefully. Stiles trails fingertips over Derek's mouth. “It’s just … what we gotta do. I want my boyfriend back too.”

Maybe it’s the truthful rhythm of his heart, but Derek nods, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder.

As it turns out, Isaac has a very nice mouth that feels great around Stiles’ cock; however, Stiles much rather likes looking at what’s happening beside them. Stiles has seen Scott’s dick in passing before. He’s definitely seen Derek’s mouth around a cock.

The new combination is, unsurprisingly, stupidly hot.

Scott seems to think the same about Stiles’ dick and Isaac’s mouth, so thankfully that makes it less weird.

It’s not long before Stiles’ cock is hard, ready to fucking explode -- but there’s something missing, keeping him from tipping over the edge. He’s hot, sweaty, and breathless, but nothing is making him come.

“Dude, what the hell?” Scott says hoarsely. He’s red in the face and just as frustrated.

Stiles shifts his feet, back scraping on brick wall, and his hand brushes against Scott’s. It’s like electricity, a mix of Isaac’s kiss and Derek’s, all from a touch. He feels it as Isaac moans around his dick, and hears a familiar sound from Derek.

“Huh,” Stiles says, taking Scott’s hand in his, lacing their fingers. Both their boyfriends groan deeply. “Listen, we should--” Stiles manages to get out while Isaac goes to town on his hard cock. Scott squeezes Stiles’ hand really hard when Derek does the same to him.

A strangled sound escapes Stiles as he leans with his face turned toward Scott, who's with the program. They kiss, an uncoordinated mashing of lips and wet tongues.

It’s a circuit, blazing through Stiles when he comes, leaking into Scott as he does. Isaac swallows around Stiles, pulling off with a gasp, and gets himself off. Derek holds Stiles’ eye contact, mouth on Scott and jerking himself off, coming hard.

The invisible bond snaps and disappears, freeing them.

“Orgasms for all,” Stiles says shakily, sinking to the ground. Derek’s there to catch him.

Scott and Isaac already have their arms around each other. They kiss, causing both to smile. Scott says confidently, “We’ll all be fine.”

“Nothing is breaking any of us up,” Stiles agrees, feeling boneless, curling into Derek’s chest. “Especially not asshole witches.”

Derek kisses him deeply, pure awesomeness again.

* * *

11.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning: none**

Roscoe Warren Gottfried III was a perfect roommate. He shared everything – from chemistry books about covalent bonds (it was really a shame his roommate wasn't majoring in chemistry; his nose scrunched whenever Gottfried shared his extensive knowledge on the subject, which was often) to his vintage war bond ads that he'd framed and hung up throughout the dorm room to his excellent collection of bowties and cravats featuring sailor knots.

Gottfried was in the group kitchen down the hall, whisking together warm water and flax seed meal to use as a binder in his cinnamon buns, which he would generously share with his roommate. And his roommate's visiting boyfriend, to whom he owed a cinnamon bun-sized apology.

***

 _Triumph Over Tyranny! Buy War Bonds!_ , _Doing all you can, brother? Buy War Bonds!_ , _…and WE talk about sacrifice. Buy War Bonds._ The entire room was trying to kill his erection, Derek thought, and looked down at Stiles, crouched between his legs. Frowning at Derek's dick. Okay, that was even worse than the posters.

"Spit it out, Stiles," he said with a sigh.

"I haven't swallowed anything yet," Stiles said. He leaned forward and swiped his tongue up the underside of Derek's cock. It perked up a bit at that, and Stiles reached out to hold it. Derek settled back on his elbows to watch.

"Oh my God, I can't believe he's distracting me from your dick!" Stiles burst out. Derek let his head hit the pillow. It was going to be awhile, he could tell. "A month. A _whole month_ I've been dreaming of your dick. I had dick dreams, Derek! And when you finally get here, Gott-fucking-fried has to call the cops on you!"

"To be fair, I was the naked man on your fire escape," Derek said to the ceiling. It had been a sexy idea at the time. Or just desperate. Skype sex was not the same thing as Stiles' hands on him.

"Three hours. We could have been fucking for three hours, Derek!"

"And yet we're still not fucking," Derek mumbled.

"I'm so pissed, I could—"

"Suck my dick?" Derek supplied, hopeful.

"Yeah! That'll put him in his place!"

Stiles sealed his lips around the head of Derek's cock, his tongue probing up and under the foreskin. Derek didn't bother biting back a groan. He was tingling all the way down to his toes.

"And another thing," Stiles said, pulling off with a _pop_. Derek growled in frustration. "I have pictures of you. On my desk; you can't fit anything else on these walls. You're pretty much naked in quite a few of them. I _know_ he's looked! He should have recognized you!"

"Stiles. Will you please, please stop complaining about your roommate and suck my dick?"

Stiles glared at him. "Fine!"

He almost choked himself on Derek's dick. His raised eyebrows dared Derek to even think about laughing, but it was no laughing matter to him. Stiles' mouth. Stiles' mouth after a month apart, damn college. Derek's lips parted as he watched Stiles angrily suck him down. A bit of drool dripped from Stiles' lower lip, just like it always did.

"Hey," Derek said, reaching across to run his knuckle over Stiles' puffed-out cheek. "I missed you."

Stiles grinned around his mouthful of cock, his expression softening. "Mfashearh," he said, and took even more of Derek in. Derek fell back against the pillows, a noise halfway between a moan and a whimper escaping his lips. Stiles squeezed the base of his cock, his fingers slipping in spit-damp skin. He bobbed up and down, lips meeting fingers, back and forth. Derek could smell himself getting ready to come, could feel it building. His dick hit the back of Stiles' throat as the door was flung open.

"Cinnamon buns!" Roscoe Gottfried cried. His eyes widened at the tableau before him. "Saint Jude on a cracker!"

The buns smelled really good. And it was with a confused bark of surprise and rumble of his stomach that Derek came, down Stiles' throat and over his chin.

***

Roscoe Warren Gottfried III was an exceptional roommate. He kept take-out menus in a clearly labeled binder, knowledgeably traded tips on stocks and bonds, and knew when the hell to clear out for the weekend.

And he left the cinnamon buns.

***

Stiles gave the buns a murderous look.

"Oh my God, Stiles," Derek groaned. "Yes, your buns taste better. Now stop moping and get over here."

* * *

12.

**Pairings: Derek/Scott**

**Warning: Dub-con (sex magic instigates the particular encounter)**

“Remember when you said 'we're brothers now' to me?”

“Yeah.”

“And you know how it took me a couple years to fully get that?”

“Stubborn asshole,” Derek muttered.

“Hey, I came around. To be fair you weren't exactly oozing brotherly love.”

“Why is this relevant now?”

“Well, I just wanted you to know that I love you, bro. But I'm totally blaming you for getting me into this.”

“You act like you don't enjoy it.”

“We're currently naked, tied together, and surrounded by a bunch of wood nymphs who are going to watch you fuck me for their own amusement. Where's the romance?”

“What, like Stiles watching and giving color commentary like he did last time?”

Scott laughed in spite of himself.

“As if he'd never seen us fuck before.”

“As if he'd never _joined in_ before.”

“It's just different when it's like this, having outsiders watch us.”

“It's not for their amusement, you know. This is a traditional lunar ritual between the highest ranking pack members. It proves the strength of the pack bond.”

“I know, I know. You've told me. Doesn't the fact that we do this _a lot_ make a difference?”

“They like to control it, the timing and positioning. And they need to make sure that you and I have a strong bond independent of the rest of the pack. You and I are rarely ever together without someone else there.”

“You make it sound like we just have pack orgies all the time.”

“We _do_ have pack orgies all the time. Why do you think Peter hangs his paintings of Bacchus all over the house?”

“That's supposed to be Bacchus?”

And that was when the wood nymphs started chanting.

The magic bond holding them together started to buzz, making their skin tingle, their bodies heat up, and their blood flow.

Derek hated feeling out of control. When something forced him to shift against his will, he struggled against it fang and claw. But getting really horny, really fast wasn't exactly the worst sensation in the world. He wasn't forced all the way into his alpha form. The nymphs didn't find it as aesthetically pleasing as their beta forms.

Derek's dick got hard against Scott's ass, which was starting to leak what Derek always assumed was some kind of magical nymph lube. Scott was pushing back insistently, helpfully rubbing his slick crack against Derek's cock.

“Fuck,” Derek exhaled sharply. He _needed_ to be inside Scott. He shook his head, trying to clear out the foggy, lust-driven haze. “Do you need me to-”

“Just get inside me now,” Scott growled.

So Derek lined up and pushed into the wet, tight heat, and everything else—the noise of the forest, even the presence of the nymphs—disappeared. Pleasure coursed through Derek's body, cresting with every thrust, and he just wanted to take and take and take.

The nymph magic kept them in the awkward standing position, so Derek had to tighten his fingers around Scott's hips to get leverage, sinking his claws in. Scott's responding howl was a mix of pleasure and pain.

Derek sped up his pace, sweat starting to drip down his chest. Scott bucked back, reaching his arm around to grab Derek's ass, urging him to go faster, trying to get him deeper.

Derek was starting to feel light-headed as his orgasm built, all his heat pooling in his groin. He was vaguely aware of Scott starting to pump his own cock with his hand, but as soon as Scott's ass clenched around him, signaling his climax, Derek forgot everything else but the bliss that exploded through him.

Before he fully came back to himself, the bonds dissolved, and Derek and Scott both crashed naked to the forest floor. The wood nymphs, the fog, the chanting, all of it was gone. Just like that. The nymphs having gotten what they came for.

Scott looked bewildered and sex-stupid, and Derek guessed his own expression matched, because they both cracked up at the same time.

“Not it.”

“Not it for what?”

“For telling the rest of the pack that they missed the wood nymphs' sneak sex attack this time.” Scott's voice softened. “We should, though, do something soon. Just the two of us.”

Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, so maybe the wood nymphs are right.”

* * *

13.

**Pairings: Ms. Morrell/Scott**

**Warning: Teacher/Student relationship**

Ms. Morrell walked into the classroom. The general chatter died down, and she walked to the desk, and looked at the class.

“I will be taking you for Chemistry today. Mr. Harris is unavailable,” she announced. “Open your books to page 456, we will be covering chemical bonds today.”

She looked at the class, making sure to meet Scott’s eyes. He smiled, just a little, she smiled as she flicked her eyes over the rest of the class. They were careful, so very careful, and, she wasn’t prepared to jeopardise it. The class quietened, and she looked over her notes. She stood up and walked to the board, picking up the chalk.

“Today we’re going to look at dative bonds. A dative bond is a type of covalent bond where one atom provides both of the electrons in the board; dative in this context means ‘donate’.” She turned to look at the class, almost disappointed when she saw that Scott wasn’t looking at her, but instead writing notes, dutifully. She turned back to the board and started to draw an example.

“When ammonia and hydrogen chloride mix, a reaction takes place which results in ammonium chloride. The NH3 turns into NH4, it does this by stealing a hydrogen molecule from the hydrogen chloride, but does so by making a dative bond. The ammonia donates their free pairs of electrons to the naked hydrogen nucleus,” she turns from the board then, and looks at Scott, who was looking at her this time, and blushing nicely. “And the hydrogen nucleus accepts the electrons.”

Ms. Morrel finished the diagram and stepped to one side, so everyone could see. “Any questions?”

She set the class to work, and sat at the desk. She flicked through some notes from sessions she’s taken and added notes and thoughts. Students walked up to the desk and handed in their papers as they finish and she started to look them over. When Scott came over, he bent down slightly.

“Ms. Morrell, I need to talk to you, about the class, I’m not sure I understand some parts?” He asked.

“Of course, Scott. Would you be ok to stay after class? I could go over it again then.” She offered, looking up at him.

Scott grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back, struck by just how pretty he was.

“That would be great.”

“Alright then,” she said, and Scott walked back to his set. She saw Stiles look curiously at him, but Scott just shook his head. She felt a twinge of fear, but she knew Scott could handle it; it wasn’t their first time, after all.

~~~

Scott hung behind, taking his time packing his bag. He managed to get rid of Stiles deftly, who smiled at Ms. Morrell as he passed. She smiled and nodding, making a note to arrange an appointment with him; she hadn’t spoken to him in a while and wanted to make sure he was still doing alright.

She pushed all thought of work out of her mind as Scott approached the desk. She swiveled the chair around as he walked around the side of the desk, dropping to his knees.

“Good boy,” she murmured, running a hand through her hair. The arousal she had been tamping down since the start of class came to life, and she felt a growing dampness between her legs.

Scott ran his hands up the insides of her legs, inching her skirt up and over her knees, up her thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin there. She squirmed slightly, wanting a firmer touch. He sucked kisses up her thigh, teeth digging into her skin. She wondered if he left a mark.

Scott nudged her panties out of the way, tongue finding her clit. She gasped, lifting her hips slightly, pushing herself against Scott’s face. Scott groaned and licked harder. Long fingers pushed into her, curling and stroking in time with his tongue.

Sweat broke out on her skin, and she started to pant. She could feel her muscles start to clench, and Scott groaned again, tongue working faster. She bit her fist, hunching forward slightly as she came, clenching rythmiclly around Scott’s fingers.

Scott gave her clit one last gentle lick and pulled away. Ms. Morrell panted, hand coming up to cup Scott’s face. She ran a thumb through the wetness on Scott’s cheeks, then pushed her thumb into Soctt’s mouth, gasping as he sucked her juices off it.

“Good boy,” she murmured.

* * *

14.

**Pairings: Scott / Allison**

**Warning: BDSM, Spanking**

Allison had been saying no for a while. Not because she didn't want to try, but because it was a **big** deal. But now she was lying back on her bed, blindfolded, ready.

"Have you shaved down there as I asked?" Came the voice, and Allison nodded, before remembering the rules.

"Yes, master. I'm smooth." She felt hands tugging her jeans down, and pulling them off quickly. She was wearing no panties underneath, and she shivered as his cold fingers stroked the skin, causing her to jump.

"Arms above your head." He said firmly, and without waiting for her, he pulled them there. She heard the scratch of plastic as a tie secured her wrists to the headboard. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears as the same happened at her ankles - the plastic biting into them, spreading her wide. Though she was still wearing her shirt, he ripped through it, until her chest was exposed.

His hands moved away from her, and she listened to the zipper of his pants, the flutter of his clothes as they hit the ground, but other than that he was silent. Allison felt herself getting wetter, the uncertainty of when he was going to strike proving too much for her self control. But really - what control did she have in this situation at all?

The first belt hit came from nowhere, and she screamed out in surprise.

"Count, slave." She screamed again as the belt bit into her flesh.

"T-two..." She panted, revelling in the pain. Whenever the belt got too close between her legs, she'd mentally beg to be touched.

"T... Ten." She gasped at last, and then silence as his hands replaced the belt, soothing the skin. When his hand brushed against her inner thigh, her hips lifted from the bed, and he chuckled.

"What's wrong, slave?" He said, blowing some air onto her clit. "Feeling a little... sensitive?"

"Master, please, I want to feel you." She groaned, her head rolling, and her wrists hurting as she pulled away from the headboard - but she was securely held in place.

"You know what I'll do if this happens, don't you? We talked about it?" His voice was almost gentle again, but she just nodded, wishing she could reach out and cup his face. "Tell me, then. So I know you're sure."

"You said that you wouldn't wear a condom if we did this." She said, her voice small. "You said that I'm your mate, and that as your mate, I have a... responsibility."

"Which is?" He sounded impatient, and Allison told herself it was part of the act.

"... I have a responsibility to be bred by you." She felt his hand stroke her thigh in approval.

"This could hurt, Ali." His act slipped, replaced by concern, and after stroking her entrance, he thrust inside her. Allison tensed up, kissing desperately when she felt his lips pressing against her. It wasn't long before she felt Scott's knot pushing against her walls, and his thrusts became tighter, and more determined. Panic filled her at the idea that it wouldn't come out, but the idea of it quickly turned into pleasure, pushing her into her orgasm, though her body didn't get relief as Scott continued to thrust, causing her to be hit by a second and third orgasm, straight after the first. She pulled her head away from him, gritting her teeth as she wasn't sure how much more she could take, but the last contstricting of her walls was enough for Scott to let out a gargled groan, and she felt his seed shooting inside her - it was a strange feeling, one she'd never experienced before as she'd always made sure he wore a condom.

Waiting for the knot to shrink, he lifted her blindfold, stroking her hair back.

"You sure you're okay?" He asked, looking at her tiredly. She nodded, and he stroked her cheek. "I wasn't too rough? Too bossy? Too--"

"Scott, stop it, you were perfect." It was a few more minutes before the knot shrunk, and Scott pulled out, releasing her arms and legs.

"So... You think...." He began. Smiling, Allison walked over to her drawer. Now she was done with high school, having taken her final test that morning, it was empty of all her textbooks. Instead, she waved a pregnancy test at Scott, and shrugged.

"I guess give it a few more weeks, and we'll know."

* * *

15.

**Pairings: Stiles/Plant with voyeur!Derek**

**Warning: dubcon, plant tentacles**

When Stiles opens the door to his room, there’s a small potted plant sitting by his computer desk. Stiles picks up the card tucked against the pot and reads, _Enjoy, D_.

“So, what’s so special about you, little guy? No flowers or smell,” Stiles comments while playing with the funny shaped leaves. A quick search on the internet doesn’t help him, so he makes a mental note to ask Derek about it.

***

Stiles likes to think that he’s developed this sixth sense for danger. He snaps awake and realises that he’s dangling in mid-air with tendrils wrapped around his waist and all limbs. He tests the strength of the tendrils around his wrist, but the plant has a firm grip on him. “Is this about me calling you ‘little guy’? You’re definitely not little. Not little at all.”

It’s then he notices the tendril sneaking up the left leg of his boxers. “This is very quickly turning into bad touch category! Oh god, what did I do to deserve being felt up by a plant, of all things?” he cries.

There’s a tendril wrapped around his shaft like a sheath. The plant’s pulsating and it doesn’t take long before Stiles’ hard cock is tenting his boxers.

“Fuck,” he pants. “If this is a one of Derek’s pranks, I’m going to kill him myself. Boyfriend or not!”

His window clicks open and a dark figure climbs inside, only to pause at the sight of Stiles and the endless mass of vines. “Stiles?”

“Oh, thank the fuck you’re here, Derek,” Stiles’ sentence is cut short as a tendril slips into his ass and nudges against his prostate.

Derek just stands there taking in the sight and smell of Stiles’ arousal.

“It won’t stop shoving these stupid vines into my ass,” pants Stiles.

Derek steps closer and asks, “It’s not hurting you, is it?”

“No, ngggh, but it doesn’t make it less weird!” replies Stiles.

Derek unsheathes his claws and slices Stiles’ boxers. There’s a rush of cold air and Stiles’ cock pops free of its confines. Stiles’ cock wet at the tip and dripping pre-cum.

“Not helping!” exclaims Stiles.

Derek spreads Stiles’ cheeks to get a closer look and comments, “Your hole’s all puffy and stretched out. I can see all the way inside of you.” He reaches for vine that seems slightly thicker than the others and guides it towards Stiles’ ass.

Stiles squirms as the thicker vine starts to push inside, “Oh god!”

“There must be more than ten of these things inside of you. You love it, Stiles. You’re practically dripping,” whispers Derek.

It’s only then that Stiles notices the vine getting bigger. “Whaa?”

“Shhh, let it do its thing,” replies Derek. There are bulges traveling down the vine into Stiles’ ass. The seeds will deposit themselves inside Stiles to incubate and mature. “You’re doing so well, Stiles. So beautiful and full.”

When the last seed has been deposited, Stiles wiggles and struggles against his bonds. “Please, Derek,” he whines. Derek gets on his knees in front of Stiles and uses his claws to clip the tendril that’s wrapped itself around Stiles’ cock. He takes a breath and swallows Stiles’ cock to the root. Stiles screams his orgasm and pours himself down Derek’s throat.

It doesn’t take very long to get Stiles untangled from the plant. Derek guides Stiles into bed and proceeds to rub his belly.

“It feels like someone shoved golf balls up my ass.”

Derek lets out a puff of air against Stiles’ neck where he’s nuzzling, “You’re incubating the seeds.”

“Wait, the plant is using me as an incubator? Better yet, how on earth are they going to come out? Oh god, don’t tell me. I’m going to have to push them out. Of my ass. Like an ass-baby. How is this my life?” he groans.

“Deaton said the seeds are very powerful,” states Derek.

“Of course they are. The doc and I are going to have a talk about what he’s allowed and not allowed to give to my boyfriend,” says Stiles.

“You liked it, though,” Derek remarks.

“You’re lucky I’m a kinky kind of guy,” grumbles Stiles.

* * *

16.

**Pairings: Allison/Derek**

It's never easy between them, never soft or gentle or sweet; the bonds of family and pack a twisted, angry tangle, sharp and biting like a claw at the throat or an arrow to the heart. They pull at each other, prod at their tender places, and fuck. When Allison is in town from college, when friends or hunter business call her back, they run each other to ground on neutral territory; an abandoned warehouse or a dark, empty parking lot, it doesn't matter. They don't need a bed and soft pillows: a wall will do or the hood of a car. Sometimes his claws will come out, and sometimes her knife.

It was a dark alley behind some seedy bar a few towns over last time. Allison's legs around Derek's waist like a vice, a gymnast's strength holding her up while Derek fucked her. She clawed up his back, welts under her nails gone within seconds, and bit at his jaw. Derek let her, hoisting her higher and pulling her down hard against his cock. They never kissed.

This time, two months later, they meet in a dilapidated house on the edge of town. She bends over the top of an old dining table, hands curled around the edge for leverage, and Derek pushes up her skirt with rough hands. She widens her stance and arches her back, exposing herself. She's lost her panties on the way in. "Come on," she urges. "Fuck me."

He rolls on the condom and pushes his fingers into her, slicking his cock with the wetness of her cunt. He goes back for more, smearing her juices over her hole, pushing his fingers inside until she is loose and sloppy everywhere. He fucks her ass with short, sharp snaps of his hips, spreading her cheeks apart with broad palms, cramming another inch of his dick in her ass, making her clench and groan and shudder with it. "Harder," she demands between harsh, gasping breaths. "Fuck me, come on, do it."

He grunts with the effort, sweat running down his temple and gathering in the small of his back. He brings one hand around her waist and pushes two fingers into her cunt. She grinds down on him, getting herself off, delicious friction against her clit and his cock deep in her ass, the hot, dragging pressure making her moan and pant. She comes with a shout that echoes in the empty space, breath pushed out of her lungs by the force of his thrusts. Hot pulses of pleasure sizzle along her nerve endings as her body seizes and shakes apart. He comes in the aftermath, perfectly silent, body bowed over her back and face clenched tight as if in pain.

They don't speak, not before and not after. Derek zips up his jeans and is gone before Allison fully gets her breath back. She straightens her skirt and puts her panties back on with unhurried hands. She is drenched in sweat, the inside of her thighs slick and sticky. She feels lighter in the aftermath, high on adrenaline and endorphins.

They cannot escape each other, caught in each other's orbit, tied together by family and pack and history, but they can have this. It's not gentle or soft or sweet, but it is something, it is theirs alone.

* * *

17.

**Pairing: Derek/Stiles, Derek/Tentacle Plant**

**Warnings: light bondage, tentacles, magic!Stiles, mind control (of a plant)**

**Greenhouse Effect**

The moon was high in the sky when Derek's phone rang. He reached for it blindly but upon answering, all he heard was familiar laughter.

"It's two in the morning, Stiles. Come to bed," Derek mumbled, half asleep.

"Derek, I need—ah! I think you—oh!" Whatever Stiles was trying to say was cut off by a low moan.

Suddenly alert, Derek clutched the phone in his fist. "What's wrong? Stiles?"

"Nothing's wrong. But I—" Stiles gasped. "I'm fine. Just get down here."

Despite Stiles' reassurances, Derek threw back the covers, pulled on a pair of shorts and quickly made his way across the property to the greenhouse by the lake.

He'd built the greenhouse as a graduation gift for Stiles, who surprised everyone when he chose to pursue a graduate degree in Botany. Three years later, it was the place Derek could usually find Stiles if he wasn't in the house, even in the middle of the night.

The moon painted the greenhouse with a faint blue-grey hue and Derek sensed a hum of something electric in the atmosphere. He expected to see Stiles bent over his garden table, nose smudged with dirt, talking to his favorite plants or poring over one of the volumes Deaton had given him upon retirement. Instead, Stiles stood in front of a massive plant with thick tentacle-like vines and long leafy stems, gasping and giggling like he was losing an intense tickle fight.

He didn't look like he was in pain but Derek approached him cautiously. "Stiles? What's going on?"

"It worked!" Stiles said, raising his arms in victory. A brilliant smile lit up his face when tiny leaf shoots curled around his wrists. "I did it. I'm _doing_ it. Look!"

"What—" A long tendril twisted around Stiles' forearm, traveling over his elbow and under his sleeve. Derek's mouth dropped open in amazement. "How?"

"I've been working on this for a while but nothing ever happened." Stiles shrugged helplessly. "Then I remembered reading something about the eve of the full moon in one of Deaton's journals, so I came down here to try it out. I just _believed_ I could make it move, and it worked."

"Can I—" Derek stepped closer, reaching out to run a fingertip along the delicate leaves, watching them curl around his knuckle and tickle his palm. Several stems slid around his wrists, tightening their grip and pulling him backwards to where the tangle of vines was much more dense until his bare back made contact with the cool, damp core of the plant.

Stiles shuddered, excitement coloring his cheeks. "I can feel it touching you."

Derek's breath hitched when a thick, green strand wrapped itself around his waist, holding him in place. He pulled against it, surprised by how tightly he was being held, and a rush of heat flooded his body. The familiar scent of their combined arousal hung heavy in the air.

"What does it feel like?"

"Like I have a thousand fingers," Stiles said, pulling his hardening cock from his pants. "Like I'm strong enough to hold you there while they touch you all at once."

Derek gasped as the plant trailed over his shoulders and down his chest, teasing his nipples, sliding down over his stomach. Several stems tickled his toes, then crept up his legs, tracing each curve of muscle.

"Fuck. Please say this is okay."

"Yeah, Stiles," Derek said, breathless. "Whatever you want."

The plant's response was immediate.

Tendrils tangled in Derek's hair, sliding down over his cheeks and lips. They tasted sweet, pure, when Derek opened his mouth to suck on them greedily. Thicker tentacles slipped under Derek's shorts, one coiling around his cock, another sliding back behind his balls, its delicate tip teasing the rim of his ass. It was cool, slick, seeming to draw moisture from its roots to ease the way.

"C'mon. Do it."

The tentacle breached him, filling him up, pulsing in time with Stiles' thrusts into his fist. Derek groaned as the pressure around his cock began to build.

"Gonna make you come," Stiles gasped.

The tip of a leaf dipped into the slit of his cock and Derek surrendered to the push-pull of Stiles' will, letting his restraints hold him up as he shuddered through his release. The tentacle inside him swelled when Stiles came, flooding him with wetness, then slowly slipping out.

"That was incredible," Stiles said, collapsing against his chest.

Derek hummed in agreement, too wrung out to speak.

* * *

18.

**Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Allison, bond = Scott/Stiles**

**Warning: Threesome, cursory google research into dicephalic parapagus, apologies if it is not respectfully portrayed.**

“I can’t do this.” Scott scowled down at where Derek sprawled bare-chested on the bed, eyes like a deer caught in headlights, ready to bolt any second. “No fucking way. I’m sorry, I just … can’t.” He started to back off the mattress.

“Scott, man, you promised!” Stiles begged. “I stuck it out with Allison! And that was some seriously freaked shit.” He struggled against Scott for a moment. “We made a deal, bro – if you get some action, then your buddy Stiles gets some too – it’s only fair.”

“Yes, well who caused this mess in the first place?” Scott spat out. “Brilliant idea, Stiles – a teleportation spell? Seriously?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Stiles had surprised everyone, including himself. “I teleported us away from that rabid tentacle thingy. I fucking ROCK, man. I’m the next Willow!”

“Stiles, you moved us a whole three feet.”

“It got us out of range! We’d be lunch, now, if I hadn’t…”

“This is worse than lunch!”

“ENOUGH!” Derek glared between them, then rolled toward the edge of the bed. “I should never have let you talk me into this, Stiles. It’s a fucking freak show. Call me when you’re back to normal.”

“Derek, wait!” A hand caught Derek’s wrist, pulling him back – the same hand that had held him, touched him for months now. Same long crooked fingers, bitten nails, moles and all. “It’s still me, Derek. I still love you, still need you. This…” He indicated his misshapen body, “It’s just temporary. I’ll fix it, I swear – but I’m just fucking lost without you, man.” Stiles eyes showed uncharacteristic vulnerability. “We don’t have to do anything. I just – I need your support.”

Derek sat up slowly, scowl melting into reluctant sympathy. He ran a hand over the back of Stiles’ head. “I know. I’m sorry – come’ere.“ He leaned in and kissed him gently.

Stiles lost himself in the comfort, until Scott cleared his throat loudly. “Um, guys?”

“Argh – fucking Scott…“ Stiles buried his face in Derek’s shoulder, pulling Scott with him into the embrace.

From Stiles’ slight waist, a stockier torso rose to shoulders stretched abnormally wide, on which Scott’s head sat displaced slightly to the right, while Stiles’ head protruded from the front of their left shoulder. Scott’s tanned arm supported them, while Stiles’ own pale arm curled around Derek’s wrist. Two arms, two legs, but in one chest beat two strong hearts, and Derek beheld two earnest faces, two vastly different personalities warring for control of a single body.

It took a week after Stiles’ spell went awry to learn how to function in their merged body. Eating, reading, and writing were easy (Stiles had always been ambidextrous), with each controlling motor functions of his respective side, but tasks like walking or moving around were ridiculously complex. Driving required an elaborate choreography of co-ordination which couldn’t possibly be safe.

It wasn’t just functionality, but also the social aspects of living with his best friend – calling it “close quarters” was beyond an understatement. Every impulse, every action had to be consulted and shared, from making a sandwich, to co-ordinated texting, to toileting and personal hygiene. They fell asleep at night to not just the SOUND of each other’s breathing, but to the FEELING of lungs rising and falling, hearts beating in unison. The embarrassment of Scott feeling his body’s reaction to his most intimate thoughts…

“Look, I can fix this. It’s only another week until the new moon, we can reverse the conditions. This isn’t forever, Scott, I promise. But… I understood when you needed Allison. I got it, you know?” They’d fix this – he knew they would. They HAD to. “This is scary for me, too. I’m terrified. And while you may never understand it, Derek is *my* comfort zone. He’s where I feel safe.”

Derek had a look like too much emotion was giving him pain. He tugged Stiles down on the bed. “Come’ere. This is weird as fuck, but I’ve got you. Welcome to our sex life, Scott!” he added, dryly.

“All right!” Stiles crowed, while his counterpart groaned. Working together, they yanked their t-shirt off over both their heads, and unzipped their jeans, easing the denim down over their hips.

The look on Derek’s face was priceless.

“Holy fuck. Is that…”

“I know, right?” Stiles giggled gleefully, kicking the jeans off and crawling in between Derek’s knees.

“You have two… holy FUCK.”

Scott sighed. “That’s what Allison said.” He resigned himself to a long evening of experimentation.


	2. Group B (With Warnings)

19.

**Pairings: Stiles/Derek, several OMCs/Stiles**

**Warning: possible dub-con**

Another cock slides into him, and Stiles lets out a shuddering breath.

“Derek,” he groans. “ _Derek._

The cock inside of him is thrusting harder, rougher, and Stiles can only grip the edge of the rock he’s bent over and take it.

Derek strokes a finger down the side of his face. “Do you feel good?”

Stiles giggles, because the cock feels so damn perfect. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m good.”

*****

_“Are you serious?”_

_“Yes, Stiles, I’m serious.” Derek sounds exasperated, but Stiles doesn’t care, because there’s the whole thing where werewolves sign peace treaties with one giant gangbang._

_“So, they all fuck me?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“They come in me?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And that’s the binding contract?”_

_Derek shifts. “Not exactly. There’s something else.”_

*****

There’s another gush of warmth as the werewolf inside him comes, and Stiles whines, because his cock is thick and heavy between his legs and he was _close_.

“Derek, please.” His fingers scrabble at the rock.

Derek lays his hand over Stiles, stilling him. “Hush. There’s more.”

Another cock slides in deep. There’s no resistance. Stiles is loose, and his hole greedily sucks up every cock the rival werewolf pack has to offer. He feels raw and used.

“You,” Stiles gasps. “I want you.”

“Later. You know I have to be last.”

*****

_“Are you okay with this?” Derek asks. “I know it’s a lot.”_

_“Am I the only option?”_

_Derek nods. “You’re my mate. It has to be you.”_

_Stiles nods. “Not gonna lie, it’s a little intimidating. But I can’t say something like this hasn’t featured heavily in a series of wet dreams I had when I was fourteen.”_

_Derek snorts and pulls him close. “I love you.”_

_“I love you, too.”_

*****

He’s being pounded into, the thrusts pushing his body further onto the rock until his toes can barely touch the ground. It’s harsh and rough, and he groans because this is exactly what he needs right now.

He feels the werewolf grip his shoulders to brace himself, and then he’s being fucked at an angle that hits his prostate. His toes curl and he keens.

“Holy fucking shit, Derek, I need you, I need to–”

His words are cut off by another series of hard thrusts, then the werewolf comes and Stiles wants to sob because he _really wants to come too_.

“You need what, Stiles? Another cock?”

“I need to come, jackass. God, I need to come.” He wants to cry, he’s so desperate for release.

“Not yet,” Derek says, beckoning another wolf forward.

*****

_Normally, they fuck. They both like it hard and frantic, with teeth and nails dragging along skin and leaving behind raised red marks._

_That night, the make love. It’s soft and gentle, and Stiles comes with a sigh._

*****

He’s so close that Derek has to grip the base of his cock to keep him from coming early.

“It’s almost time,” Derek says, softly. “I’ll mount you next.”

Stiles groans his relief as the wolf in him comes and wetness drips down his legs.

Derek stands and moves behind him. He feels fingers tracing the rim of his hole.

“You’re filthy,” Derek says. “You’re so open and _dripping_ with them all. I’m going to have to fuck you senseless back home to get their scent off you.”

Stiles nods frantically. “Yes, that’s good. That’s very good.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever been quite this hard.

Derek pushes into him without warning, and Stiles back arches. “Oh god, Derek. I want you, I kept wanting you, please, just fuck me…”

And Derek does, with hard, long thrusts, the kind he knows Stiles likes best, and it isn’t long before he feels it.

Derek is swelling at the base of his cock, and even though his hole is loose, Stiles can feel the resistance.

Holy shit, he’s going to be knotted.

Derek slams into him one more time, and the knot expands sealing the werewolves’ seed inside him. Stiles feels it when he starts to come, because Derek doesn’t stop coming, and his ass is so full that come is leaking out from around the knot.

The final act of the treaty – the knotting and sealing of the seed – has been completed.

“It’s done,” Derek grunts. Then he howls.

All the werewolves in the clearing join him.

Derek’s fist closes on Stiles’s cock, and it only takes a few strokes before finally, _finally_ Stiles is coming.

* * *

20.

**Pairings: Peter/Stiles**

**Warning: age difference but not underage**

It wasn't often that Stiles could surprise him, but this...yeah, this did.

Peter knew he was smiling too widely, and he didn't try to stop. Looking again at the intricate leather wristbands Stiles held, he didn't know what to say. He'd never expected...

"Dude, say something. Yes, no, though no would suck, but you're making me nervous with that weird smile. You're not going Joker on me are you?"

A laugh burst from him and Peter dropped to his knees, wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist and tugged him in so that his face was buried in his stomach.

Stiles giggled nervously and squirmed. "Um, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Peter murmured before nuzzled against Stiles' belly button, then dragged his nose lower, smelling the younger man's quick arousal. Letting his fangs slide free, he caught them in the waistband of his track pants and pulled them down his hips.

"Shit..."

"Take yourself out," Peter growled, rubbing his cheek against the bulge in the Looney Tunes boxer shorts, before pulling back enough to watch Stiles fumble and shove the shorts down just far enough to free his cock.

He was half-hard, thickening, and so beautiful, and Peter inhaled deeply, before sinking his nose into the crease between thigh and balls.

Stiles hissed and shuddered. "Is this a yes? Tell me this is a yes," he gasped out as one of Peter's hands wrapped around his dick and guided him into his mouth.

Rolling his eyes up at his lover, because his mouth was just a bit full, he wasn't surprised to see the awe and adoration on Stiles' face, and then the teenage's beautiful, long fingers were in his hair and his hips were pumping lightly. Peter sucked down the shaft to his fist wrapped around the base, then back up, tonguing the slit and the sensitive vein on the underside, before taking him in again.

"Fuck, you're so good at this."

Stiles was already shuddering and the tang of pre-cum smeared across Peter's tongue. He wasn't surprised. The teenager always came quickly the first time. One of the many benefits of his youth, though, was that he was ready to go again so very soon afterwards.

Peter wanted the next time to be with Stiles sprawled on their bed with Peter's dick pounding his ass.

The thought made him growl and Stiles shuddered even harder and pulled on Peter's hair, but he let him because that bit of dominance made his own cock ache. With his free hand he adjusted himself through his trousers, massaging his erection, while the other hand slid down to cup Stiles' heavy balls which made the young man groan loudly and buck into his mouth.

Pulling off, he started to pump him quickly and kept his eyes on the slick, reddened tip disappearing into his fist, while Stiles rocked on his heels, moaned, and held on with one hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder.

"Peter, shit, gonna...gonna...Shit!"

"Did you know that leather mating bands are often used as cock rings?"

"Fuck," Stiles hissed and came, spewing semen over Peter's face and making the older man smirk.

"Shall we try one on you while I fuck you into the mattress?"

"God...yes..." Stiles slumped, held up by Peter's arms again around his waist as he licked the tip of his softening cock clean.

"And, by the way, my darling boy, of course the answer is yes. I'll be your mate." Rising to his feet, he pulled Stiles into his embrace and a warm, loving kiss.

"Dude, you've got cum all over your face."

Peter chuckled and herded him to the bed, making sure he scooped up the two bands Stiles had dropped, because he hadn't been lying about their secondary use. In the ceremony before the Pack, they'd fasten them around each others wrists, but tonight, they'd share them in a much more intimate way.

.And the leather would always smell like them.

* * *

21.

**Pairings: Peter/John Stilinski**

**Warning: N/A**

“What’s on your mind, love?”

Peter turned his head to gaze at his husband and smiled, though it was a sad smile. He turned his gaze back to the window, watching the rain softly patter against the glass. He could feel his husbands arms wrap around him, blocking him in without constricting, a loving embrace meant to comfort.

Peter smirked, he really had gotten lucky when he courted and won the heart of this man, despite what everyone else liked to say.

“I’m thinking about the pack, what else?” He teased and leaned back, letting his head cuddle in the crook of his lover’s neck.

“Oh I don’t know…how about our anniversary?” John Stilinskiteased and mouthed softy at the tender flesh of the throat of his husband of three years.

Peter groaned out, “That’s next week love.”

“Nope. Next week is the anniversary of our mating and our wedding, tonight is our anniversary of the first time you chased me into the woods and we made love for the very first time, when you practically started courting me actually.”

Peter froze and thought about it. “…huh, your right.”

“When am I not?” John teased and used his teeth to mark the pale skin in front of him.

“How about last week when you actually thought your son was alone in his dorm room working on his midterms when in fact he was with my nephew, necking in his car like a bunch of teenagers.” Peter teased as his blood began to pump through his veins with desire.

John moaned but it wasn’t a moan of desire but of despair. “Honey, love of my life if you want to have any kind of contact tonight with me that includes our cocks you might not decide to mention my son having sex. Especially with your older and emotionally repressed nephew.”

Peter snickered, “Sorry.”

“No, your not.” John sighed, but fondly.

“No I’m not.” Peter agreed.

“Sooo…” John smirked and reached around to palm Peter’s growing erection.

“Yes, well I think we should retire then.” Peter stated quickly, already eager to get to the main event.

“Actually I’ve a bit of an idea that I’ve been wanting to try out.” John confessed, a wiry smile on his face.

“Oh?” Peter asked, the last time John had an idea it had turned into a four hour fest of orgasms. Lovely, wonderful, make you weak as a new born kitten orgasms.

“Yes…” John reached into his pocket and pulled out a long piece of rope, the rope itself was made of some kind of silk and was quite beautiful to look upon.

Peter didn’t have to guess whose hands those ropes would be binding.

“Oh love…” Peter smiles. “You love me so.”

They quickly made their way to their bedroom, where Peter was quick to undress while John kept his undershirt and pants on. He was twirling the piece of rope in his hands, it was quite a sight and Peter had to swallow many times to keep the level of saliva in his mouth from over spilling his lips.

Not that John wouldn’t like it, he’d probably lap it all up with his tongue if he saw Peter getting messy.

When John saw that Peter was undressed and waiting instruction he felt his own cock twitch in his pants, it never failed that Peter could make his heart beat fast and his cock rise. The werewolf was just that beautiful and wild.

“On your knees on the bed and place your hands on your ankles behind you.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at the unusually position it would undoubtable put him in but didn’t object, he was too excited to.

John got on the bed behind him and with gently but firm hands began to wrap the silk rope around Peter’s wrists and ankles, binding them together behind him, on a human it would without question be a very uncomfortable and possibly dangerous position if held long enough.

On a werewolf…well- Peter would recover.

When John was sure that Peter was secure enough he carefully moved up and reaching into his pant’s pocket took out a small jar of oil, the oil when touched to skin sent a tingling sensation that could quickly go from pleasant to agony. The right amount applied made the edge between pleasure and pain almost non-existent.

“Now my love…the real fun begins…” John promised and smirked at his husband’s hungry moan, it would be a fun few hours at the very least.

* * *

22.

**Pairings: Matt/Jackson**

**Warning: some asphyxiation play**

Matt wakes to sunshine, barely, with his clothes still heavy with water and the sheets damp around him. Jackson is next to him, cuddling almost.

They've done this before. Mornings after nights. After that thing that Matt created came, and went, and left Jackson leaking blood into his sheets.

Jackson stirs, jerks away, but Matt has his fingers in Jackson's hair, so he doesn't jerk far at all. They always do this, today is no exception, the pull and no-give, and Jackson throwing a fucking tantrum before he goes easy eventually. Matt's had a steady cocksucker for weeks now, and steady killer. All pluses on his list of shit that needs to get done.

"Shh," he says, and tries not to think of the water, tries not to think of Allison and still does both with the way his clothes stick to his skin. He pulls Jackson in closer, nails scratching over his scalp. "Thanks," he says because now that he's thinking of it anyway, he might as well spell it out. "You know what to do."

He's not gay but when it's these kind of mornings and Jackson is in his bed and only needs a finger's width of convincing to get his mouth down to Matt's crotch, he can close his eyes and imagine tits, lipstick and pussy. Allison's pussy, maybe.

Jackson mouths at his damp crotch before he pulls Matt's trousers down, going so easy today, and gets his lips around Matt's cock, sucking it in still mostly soft and rolling it over his tongue. Matt's not used the mojo on him for this in weeks now. Jackson just goes like this, eyes closed and blissed out and pushing his crotch into the mattress like he gets off on it, too.

"We can show them all, you know," Matt says to no one in particular, certainly not to the thing between his legs that warms his cock just so. "I'm going to show them all. They're all going to suck my dick, and they won't be able to do anything about it."

He fucks Jackson's mouth as he gets harder, then forces his cock down Jackson's throat and holds Jackson's face right there, lips straining and eyes now open wide. "So now you're looking at me, hm?"

Jackson tries to pull off, fingers clenching on Matt's thighs. Panic in his eyes, and how Matt knows that feeling of having no air to breathe and struggling through it, of grasping for anything, but he doesn't let up, keeps his cock sweet and tight just there in Jackson's throat , wraps his hands around his neck for good measure and squeezes a bit until Jackson's eyes go teary and shoot through with blood vessels.

"Never gave a shit about me before, like all the other assholes. And now you're fucking looking at me." He holds Jackson's neck with both hands and fucks up into his mouth, relishing as Jackson chokes on his dick, snorts spit through his nose in an effort to get at air. Matt can feel his cock in Jackson's throat, just under his thumb and fingers as Jackson's throat works around him.

He only gets to inhale when Matt lets him up to suck at his own pace because for once this is Matt's call to make.

Jackson does, doesn't pull off, despite the tears and snot dripping from his face. Matt just adds come to it a few minutes later. Jackson doesn't let the cock slip from his mouth until Matt shoves him off, then just lays his face on Matt's hip, tears dripping to Matt's skin, sniffles. The rush diffuses into warmth in Matt's body, fingers still shaking as tugs at Jackson's hair.

Jackson will still taste the come hours later. Matt just knows he'll still taste it when he's standing in front of his locker in school, talking shit with the rest of them. They don't know that they have these mornings, that Jackson now goes down on him so fucking easy like he's just another desperate girl. He could have all of them, but for now he has Jackson and Jackson has him.

His clothes are dry now and Jackson is asleep again, nose and lips pressed to Matt's balls. This is as things should be, cuddling almost.

* * *

23.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning:**

"I'll do it," Stiles says finally, and when the rest of the pack erupt in protest, he holds up his hand. "It's fine. It's for the pack, right?"

"No one's making you--"

"I know, Scott. Look, I swear it's okay."

"I just wish--"

"It happened to you?" Stiles asks, slightly cheeky. "

"That it didn't have to happen at all," Scott tells him with a wrinkle of his nose. "If you need anything--"

"I'll let you know," Stiles promises.

He doesn't look back when he walks away.

He doesn't want them to see the grin he can no longer keep off his face.

***

"Could you have sounded less like a lamb to slaughter?" Derek asks as the door closes behind Stiles. He strings the words together with a combination of wheezes and gasps, body hunched over, arms and neck sheened in sweat and poisonous magic.

"Sorry," Stiles mutters, kneeling by Derek, his hand hovering over his shoulder. "It was easier than going through the whole 'yes, I'm dating the alpha' conversation on top of everything. You okay, Derek?"

"Do I look okay?"

"Fucking fairies, man, right?"

"Stiles--"

"It's fine," Stiles murmurs, resting his hand on Derek, who jerks back like he's been electrecuted. "Whoa--"

"This doesn't make _this_ okay," he bites out, pained and feeble and god, Stiles doesn't know what to say to that, not when this close, he can feel the ache shooting through his core, echoed in his being so loudly it might as well be his own.

"We don't have to if you don't want to." It hadn't occurred to him, in all his smug _haha, got you_ moment, that maybe the spell that had hit them both to bind them was no less a curse than if it had hit two strangers. He'd been far too pleased it hadn't hit Derek with anyone else, but with Derek like this--

"I always want to." Derek's skin is pale, a pallor that seemed to be caused by the spell affecting non-humans, because Stiles feels mostly fine. "Just on my terms. On our terms."

"We're already halfway there," Stiles tells him. "Can't tell me she ever intended to affect two people who actually wanted each other, right?"

Derek looks doubtful, but Stiles can see-- can _feel_ \-- the hesitant agreement there.

"Our terms, Derek, okay?"

Derek's eyes meet his-- there it is, again, that magic, that electricity (for a fleeting second Stiles hates that he doesn't know which it is, fairy-made or _them_ )-- and then he nods.

***

They start slow, tentative. Derek's too worried about forgetting his strength so Stiles takes the lead, holding him down while he straddles Derek's hips, cock half-hard beneath denim jeans and mouth pressed warm against Derek's lips. His chest aligns with Derek's almost perfectly, and he presses down to soak in the warmth of Derek's heat as the kiss turns hotter, Derek licking into his mouth and Stiles tugging at his lower lip with his teeth.

"Stiles."

"Mm?"

"Why do you still have clothes on?"

***

Derek's normally a gentle lover (he's too scared, too worried, too beast) but the spell must have rankled his will, because he sucks bruises into Stiles with fervor, lifts him around to reposition him with relative ease.

The roughness alone would have been enough to go straight to Stiles's cock, but then Derek's tongue is on his hole, lapping eagerly to loosen him, fingers thicker than Stiles had ever remembered stroking him open, and Stiles _moans_.

Guess he doesn't need more of that going to his cock, at this rate.

***

Um, no. Seriously. He doesn't need more of that going to his cock.

It's been god-knows-how-many hours since they started. Derek's fucked him with his tongue, his fingers, his cock. He's returned the favor, and his poor cock is weeping for having to make up for seventeen years of abstinence in the last few hours.

"Stiles?"

"M'okay." He winces as Derek's hand flutters to his dick. "Still too sensitive. Are you sure--"

"They're still downstairs. We still can't get out. And I'm still--"

"Yeah, me too." Stiles licks his lips, heady with the _want_ and weak with the _too much_. "Five minutes?"

"I'll give you fifteen."

"Thanks," Stiles says before he focuses on coming down from the high, on returning sensation to his cock, his ass.

Be careful what you wish for.

"Fucking fairies, man."

* * *

24.

**Pairings: Stiles/Boyd/Erica/Isaac; Derek/Stiles**

**Warning: Foursome, Scent Marking, Cumplay, Blowjob, Knotting, Handjob**

Derek observed the unmated betas and humans, naked, and touching, always touching, from a distance. Stiles was in the centre of it all, spread out and shaking under the heavy hands of Boyd; the incessant sucking and licking of Isaac; the scratches along his back, his stomach, his thighs that were almost definitely Erica’s doing.

Boyd held him down at the hips with his forearm when he ducked his head to suck. He always dove straight in, Stiles realised, no hesitation or teasing needed. It was wet and hot and fuck Stiles wanted more. He could feel Boyd smiling around his cock and, in any other situation, he probably would have flipped him off. Hands, smaller and rougher, Erica’s, tugged on his balls, rolling and squeezing, and Stiles widened his stance and whimpered loudly.

“Fuck…that’s not fair,” Stiles complained his voice hoarse.

Erica laughed lowly. “All’s fair in love and fucking.”

Stiles would have retorted, really, but then Erica was rolling again and Isaac had straddled his lap and was positioning his cock on Stiles’ face. The tip rubbed against his lips, coating, and he licked at the mess eagerly, his tongue catching the slit every so often. Stiles’ eyes darted from the head to Isaac’s face, flushed cheeks, eyes blown with pleasure and he was biting down on his bottom lip, as if it was all he could do to control himself from thrusting forward. Stiles raised his hands to rest on Isaac’s hips, digging in sharply knowing that there wouldn’t be any marks left behind, and opened his mouth wide, wanting. Isaac whined and glanced at Derek for approval. The man grunted and the beta rocked forward urgently.

Isaac was so hard, pulsing and leaking steadily onto his tongue. Stiles sucked greedily, the movements uncoordinated and sloppy. Stiles felt Boyd swallow around him, and Erica’s tongue slid along the area between balls and cock, and he had to stop, gasping loudly. Isaac made a noise of objection, hand dropping to Stiles’ hair, encouraging him to continue. Stiles pressed his tongue to the underside of Isaac’s cock, swallowing around the head and the teen cursed. Boyd had pulled off, pushed his cock against Stiles’ and seemed to enjoy the slide of skin against skin. Erica bit down harshly on his inner thigh, laughing at the way his muscles jerked.

“Erica.”

Boyd’s hand paused. Stiles couldn’t see anything – only Isaac’s stomach and pubic hair that brushed his nose with each thrust – but he felt the moment the heat surrounded, sleek and slippery and consuming. His cock twitched and she clenched down around him, and she moaned loudly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Boyd moving and could imagine the way he pressed himself behind her, one hand on her breast and the other on her clit, rubbing, silently urging her orgasm forward. Her desperate noises were muffled, likely by lips.

“Stretch him.”

Stiles moaned, eyes fluttering shut, when his legs were pushed upwards, held up by Erica. The lube, when it was pressed against him made Stiles’ shiver, made him want to get away and try to get closer at the same time. Isaac petted his cheeks comfortingly. Stiles’ muscles strained and he took the fingers, loving the burn and the stretch and the coiling in his stomach.

The three betas seemed to cum at the same time. Erica started, her walls tightening around him as she cried out, coating him in her cum. Isaac was next, making wounded puppy noises before his cock twitched and Stiles was hit in the face with a hot spurt of cum. Of course, he didn’t complain and his tongue searched for it. Boyd was last, jerking himself off, Erica reaching shakily to help, and mark his scent across Stiles’ chest.

But Stiles was still hard, still on edge. He knew what was coming, it always did, but he couldn’t stop the displeased noises he made when the heat of the betas disappeared before it was replaced by something heavier, warmer. Derek. Stiles spread himself eagerly, hands reaching down to hold his legs open, although his strength was lacking. Derek’s eyes were red, burning and searing, sweeping greedily over his abused and cum covered body. He traced his cock along the seam of Stiles’ legs, the curve of his ass, just leaving a mess, before he finally thrust in.

It was hard and rough; pushing Stiles harshly along the floor and a cry broke passed his bruised lips. His grip loosened, Derek mumbled something he couldn’t hear, and then there were hands, lifting and spreading and holding, giving Derek the brace to fuck in as roughly as he wanted. Stiles would try to clench down, to keep the fullness, and that would only make it tighter when Derek pushed back in. Stiles’ cock was heavy and red on his stomach, leaking and in his own opinion, Stiles thought it looked a little sorry, as if it needed someone to take pity on its suffering. Oh fuck, why won’t anyone take pity?

When Stiles finally came, it was sudden, shouting, trembling, white vision and so hard it hurt. Derek howled above him, every bit the alpha, and Stiles would take the stretch of his knot with a contented sigh.

“You good?” Derek muttered out.

Stiles smacked his lips. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

* * *

25.

**Pairings: Scott/Stiles/Allison/Lydia/Jackson**

**Warning: Group sex**

All through the hell that was high school (‘it’s a lot like living in a never ending episode of Buffy’, Stiles reasoned) their bonds break and shift. What seemed unbreakable between Scott and Allison shifted and changed, transmuted into something different. Jackson and Lydia seemed irreparable for awhile; but a few life or death situations and they were thick as thieves. Of course two things Stiles had figured would never, in a million years change did, his non-existent relationship with Lydia ( _score_ ) and the exclusivity of his relationship with Scott.

Which brought them to now, just after high school graduation. They’d taken off with a ‘fuck you’ to Derek and his totalitarian state approach to leadership, and decided to figure out what pack meant to them.

It was Jackson’s van, (‘We should call it the Pussy Wagon, you know from Kill Bill-- totally sweet.’ Lydia rolled her eyes while Scott grinned, that one where he knew Stiles was right but was keeping his mouth shut because Allison was dangerous. ‘No.’ She said, rounding out the word with pretty red lips) called the Mystery Machine, because they were five teens on a drive across the country. They even solved the supernatural drama that popped up around them like a badly timed haunted house.

Of course they had road side assistance so there hadn’t been any nights in haunted off the road houses—yet. So it wasn’t quite Scooby-Do, but Stiles was just waiting ‘And I’ve have gotten away with if it wasn’t for you kids and that damn dog’. Also Lydia was a lot hotter than Velma, and Allison was no one’s Daphne.

Lydia liked to paint her toe-nails and rest side-ways across Stiles lap while they drove. He was quite possibly developing a foot fetish. They stopped in the sticks and Jackson was quite possibly the most attractive man anyone had seen for miles; always meant they got to put him in his place later. Sometimes Allison would lean on him while he was pumping gas and she was snacking on peanuts, because the guy in the sports car was leering at her and it was easier than punching his face in.

Most of he liked the nights. Jackson and Lydia refused to bunk in any of the cheapest motels like normal travellers. He liked it because tonight Jackson was face down on the bed, making these little hungry sounds as he ate Lydia out, she had both hands in his hair pushing him down and grinding her pussy against his face as her mouth hung over and careless abandon, red hair falling over her shoulders.

Scott had his chin on his chest, digging his fingers into Jackson’s hips hard as he fucked him, forcing him up the bed with each snap of his hips. He’d come when Scott first shoved in, flushed-surprised like it didn’t get him off every time.

Stiles rubbed against Allison’s back lightly wet cock catching lightly, desperate for a little touch, he had both hands up her shirt, fingers tucked under her bra so he could reach the impossibly soft skin under her breasts, toy with her nipples while the others put on a hell of a show. He’d tried to kiss her neck the way Scott did but got a mouth full of her hair by accident and gave up on that.

She was getting herself off, almost silent except for the way she jerked and shook in his arms, toying with her clit.

On the bed Scott wasn’t going for porn star level stamina or gymnastics, he knew what worked and he was going for it, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he hunched over Jackson’s back, Lydia’s hand catching in his hair so they could kiss, Jackson squished between them and looking blissed out about it (Stiles couldn’t blame him, he was a second away from creaming all over Allison from a little rubbing and a whole lot of watching them fuck Jackson’s puny brains out. Also Allison had _great_ boobs.)

“Come on babe.” Lydia moaned against Scott’s mouth, smearing his chin with her lipstick.

Stiles moaned helplessly and Allison laughed, head thrown back against his shoulder and riding her own fingers to a shuddery orgasm. Scott came helplessly, making a filthy mess of Jackson’s lower back, as if they were in some kind of bad porno.

“It’s you and me.” Lydia smirked at him, petting Jackson’s hair absently as he pushed his wet face into her stomach.

“Score.” Stiles breathed.

* * *

26.

**Pairings: Stiles/everyone**

**Warning:**

Stiles stretched his back up, angling his elbows so he wouldn’t slide across the table. Behind him, Boyd adjusted his grip on Stiles’ waist and ground his hips into the swell of Stiles’ ass. It was summertime, and warm, sweat dripped down his muscles and pooled at the base of his spine. The rest of the house was quiet, and Boyd was always silent, Stiles could hear his heartbeat tick in rhythm with the big clock in the hallway.

Boyd finished with a soft growl and bent low to nuzzle between Stiles’ shoulder blades before he pulled out and left for work. Twisting his head, Stiles found a warm puddle of sunlight beaming in through the widow and relaxed until he was a quivering heap of warm goo.

That’s where Erica found him at lunch. She ran her hands down his flanks and then pinched him sharply. Stiles yipped and jumped up, scowling at her while he rubbed the bright strawberry bruise plumping on his side. Erica laughed and tipped his head back for a kiss, licking his teeth and nipping his lip.

She put him back on the table, and pushed his knees apart, stepping in between. With one hand, she opened him again, rubbing up on the inside of his heat, and slipped her other hand down the front of her jeans. They gasped together, Stiles’ toes curling in pleasure.

Together, they cleaned the table and made lunch.

Stiles hadn’t wanted the bite, but he hadn’t wanted to die either.

Scott came home first, Stiles ducked his head and bumped his nose to Scott’s jaw. Scott hugged him close, laughing and lifted Stiles to wrap his legs around Scott’s waist. He leaned Stiles against the bathroom door and shucked his jeans around his knees. Stiles’ sweats bunched between them, trapping his dick against his thigh.

He couldn’t find it in him to care, not when Scott pushed straight between his ass and found his sweet spot. Stiles hooked his ankles behind Scott’s back and dug his fingers into Scott’s shoulders to hold on. Scott was always rougher than the others, but Stiles loved him for it too.

Afterwards, Scott licked the sweat from Stiles’ forehead and left him to nap on the couch.

Jackson woke him up by pressing his dick into Stiles’ sleep slack mouth. Stiles blinked the crusties out of his eyes and swirled his tongue. He angled his head so Jackson could thrust deep into his throat. He didn’t try anything special, kept his mouth wide and looked up through his eyelashes at Jackson’s electric blue eyes.

He rested his head in Lydia’s lap after dinner. Well after he spent half an hour licking and sucking her to pleasure. She scratched her nails along his scalp, pretending not to notice as he joyfully wiggled into the most comfortable position for Isaac to fuck him with long slow strokes.

Derek carried him up to their bed, and sat against the headboard while Stiles rode him slowly. His thighs trembled with the work of lifting his body, but Derek guided him and took some of the weight when he wanted Stiles to slow down. Stiles sighed, finally completed when Derek’s knot filled him and locked them together.

“Are you happy?” Derek asked, his eyes shadowed away from the nightlight burning orange in the corner.

“You’re my Alpha,” Stiles answered, curling onto Derek’s chest and counting their breaths.

Derek’s mouth twitched as he smoothed his thumb across Stiles’ eyebrow and around to his cheekbone. “I’m so sorry, Stiles,” he said, dropping his fingers to the scar on Stiles neck.

“For what?” Stiles shifted, pulling Derek’s hips with him so they could settle on their sides. He blinked over at the mirror on the closet, and saw his eyes blinking sleepily. They were a green so deep they were almost black. He thought maybe they hadn’t always been that color, but now he had the pack, and they took care of him.

That was all that mattered.

* * *

27.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning: Slight Non-con, forced bonding**

“There has to be another way!”

“Scott’s right, you can't expect to bond Stiles to me without his consent,” Derek argued.

“Well, we have two other options. Another member of the pack bonds with Stiles,” Deaton paused looking at the other member of the pack to gauge their reactions.

“What's the other way?” Isaac asked caustically.

“The Coven was using a ritual to tie Stiles to them as a power source. Unfortunately, breaking the ritual, left Stiles leaking power. We could finish their ritual,” Focusing on Derek, “making Stiles a slave to the pack,”

“That's not even a choice,” Derek snapped back.

“He's my best friend, I’ll bond with him,” Scott dared anyone to argue.

The act didn't stop Derek though, “Are you willing to give up Allison? Or making your best friend a slave?”

Scott's paled at the thought, “But, why Derek?”

“Use your nose Scott! They have been together for months now,” Erica rolled her eyes

“Also, Derek, you don't have much time to decide. At the rate he’s draining his energy, Stiles will be dead in a few hours.”

“I'll do it,” _and hope Stiles won't hate him forever._

*!*

They were about to be mated in a vet's office. If Stiles was awake, Derek knew he'd joke about it.

The pair sat naked on the floor, Derek watching the pack setup the ritual, laying ivy and fern in a circle around them. Deaton determined the pack would stand in for a coven, chanting the spell needed to fix the magic with the mating bond.

“Ready Derek?”

Dipping two fingers into the rue and myrtle infused oil, Derek anointed Stiles with the runes needed to tie the two rituals together.

Stiles skins was smooth under his fingertips. The oil and candlelight, gave Stiles’s pale skin a heated glow. Brushing over the peak of a nipple caused a soft moan from the unconscious teen. Derek slowed in his work, drawing out reactions from Stiles. He could see a small flinch over his ticklish ribs, his lower abs covered in a light dusting of goose bumps.

Finishing the finial line on the last rune, _binding_ , Derek placed a light kiss right above Stiles's navel, breathing in deep the scent that Derek had come to mean so much to him over the past few months, a mixture of scents that reminded Derek of comfort, home and family.

Adjusting Stiles to give Derek access yet keep this moment as private as possible with the pack chanting around them, his fingers dipped back into the bowl. Derek took a deep breath, grounding himself for the next task.

_It's to save Stiles._

Circling Stiles pucker with his index finger, Derek watched Stiles for any sign of discomfort. Adding a little pressure, inserting the tip of his finger, Derek saw Stiles open his eyes for the first time since he was brought to the vet's office.

“Derek?” Stiles's voices came out as a questioned whisper.

“It's ok Stiles. We're trying to save you, I'm-”

“Shhh, Derek. It's. Okay.”

“But, Stiles I have to -”

Derek was cut off by Stiles slowing lifting one arm reaching out to him, interlinking his fingers with Derek’s.

“I trust you.”

Such a simple act to an outsider but to Derek, it was all he needed to steel his nerves. Stiles would understand, because Stiles knew Derek would do what is best for him.

With clasped hands, Derek opened Stiles to him, giving soft words of encouragement, like it was their first time.

When he entered Stiles, working himself down to the hilt, he kept eye contact with Stiles half-lidded eyes never wanting to break contact with him. Derek drowned out the sounds of chanting, all that mattered was Stiles's breath, his body, his hand still holding Derek's.

Pulling Stiles up to sit in his lap, Derek continued his rapid movement. Nuzzling the area he will mark Stiles, the last step to bind werewolf and witch.

Holding Stiles oiled chest close to him, Derek punctured Stiles neck, quick and painless as he could. Keeping him close, Derek thrust twice before emptying into Stiles.

The pull began instantly, just like his mother stories told. She would explain that the mate bond would connect two souls. The feeling was one that cannot be defined, but once you felt it, you wondered why you never noticed how empty you felt before. 

Cradling Stiles to his chest Derek knew his mother described it perfectly. They were complete, whole, safe.

And Together.

* * *

28.

**Pairings: Sterek**

**Warning: Future Fic, Outsider POV, The Three Fates, Voyeurism**

She looks at the tapestry, its rich textures and colors. It’s one of the lovelier ones she’s seen. The threads are strong and bright, and so interwoven with another tapestry that it’s difficult to tell where one begins and the other ends.

Her sisters are preparing the scissors, but she’s not yet ready to call this work finished. The tapestry is filled with all the colors of happiness, joy, love, sadness, and pain. It glows with the golden thread of a certain spark. She touches one of the more vibrant, knotted threads and allows herself a quick peek.

The man to whom the tapestry belongs is in his mid-thirties. He’s naked as the day he was born, writhing on a bed of blue satin as the man whose tapestry is interwoven with his own moves with him, in and out; they lick and kiss and bite. They are possessive hands and undulating motion, and she feels something in her chest warm as she listens to them gasp and moan.

They’re beautiful together.

She touches another thread and the scene changes to when the man is in his teens. He’s shouting at the same man whose not yet his partner. She watches his arms flail and his face purple as he yells, half-hysterical. He yells and flails until he becomes a flash of motion then smashes his lips against the other man’s frowning mouth. It’s their first kiss and her pulse quickens as the threads of their tapestries slide together in symmetry with their tongues. She savors the shock of surprise on both of their faces when they realize what they’ve done. She feels like time stands still for a fraction of a second before they both ignite and come together, binding their tapestries forever without even realizing the consequences of their actions.

The next scene reveals the two men in their twenties, necking like teenagers, in the front seat of a shiny black car right before a giant hulking mass flies out of the dark and into the side of their car, shoving it off the cliff. The man’s partner is a living shield as he wraps his body around him, protecting him from the fall. They stumble from the wrecked car shaking and alive, clutching each other to reassure them of the other’s presence. She watches in fascination as the man’s partner’s face morphs into something animal before he runs off in chase, heedless of the begging and pleading for him not to go. The man slumps against a nearby tree and her chest tightens as she watches him fight tears.

She chooses a thread closer toward the bottom and watches the man, in his sixties here, sitting on a deck and nursing a mug of coffee. His hair is faded into mostly grays, but his body still carries that wiry strength of his youth. He watches fondly as a gaggle of children chase each other around his house under the guise of a game of tag. His friends join him shortly, and she watches as his body moves like a magnet to shift closer to his partner. The threads on each of their tapestries spiral around each other so thoroughly now that it’s difficult to see that there are two different threads.

At seventy, the man and his partner move together as one, sweating and shaking as both cry out their climax. They settle ensconced in the other with whispers of love and affection on their breath, happy and at peace.

She looks at him as he is now. His body has diminished with age and sickness, and his skin has taken on the translucent sheen of white that hasn’t seen the sun in months. His partner, still strong and vibrant even in his nineties, is careful with him even in sleep. He knows, as werewolves and lovers often do, that his partner’s remaining time is short. The partner’s refusal to let go tugs at her soul; she never stops being surprised at the depth of werewolves’ emotions or their capacity for love.

It’s not the werewolf’s time to go but sometimes exceptions can be made. His tapestry has suffered enough pain and loss. She plucks both of their threads together and looks towards her sisters, challenging them to stop her. She can’t explain why she feels drawn to this couple but in her eternity of professional voyeurism and crafting of fate she’s rarely seen a love like theirs.

She snips their threads and ties off their tapestries together.

* * *

29.

**Pairings: Erica/Boyd**

**Warning: None**

There was a warm hand on her hip and happiness radiated through her as she woke up. She could hear his heartbeat against her back and his lips smiled against her skin.

“Morning.” Boyd whispered his breath hot against her ear. She felt him shift, turning her till she was laying flat on her back and he was balancing above her. She let her hands brush against his sides, enjoying the way his skin rippled as she touched him. The blanket was wrapped around him, creating a little cocoon just for the two of them.

“Morning,” she answered back her voice still husky from sleep. He grinned and it made her catch her breath, sometimes it still started her how beautiful he was. He was hers. He leaned forward to press a kiss to her neck before ducking under the covers and she couldn’t keep back a laugh at his enthusiasm.

That laugh quickly turned into a moan as she felt him nip against the inside of her thigh and she spread her legs so he could settle between them. His mouth was hot as he moved his tongue made a path up her thigh and into her. His arms held her hips up and he teased her. She threw her head back and her claws dug at the sheets. She was getting wet and there was nothing she loved more than his mouth in the morning.

He knew it to because she could feel the pleasure thrumming to him to her as he brought her to the edge.

She didn’t tumble over though, something tugging away her attention and she gasped. Boyd stilled against her and she felt the hunger and fear race through her body. It wasn’t hers though, and it wasn’t his. She has long since learned how to separate theirs.

They pulled apart and Erica quickly pulled on clothes, barely nothing as Boyd did the same. He was the warmth against her back as they left their room and raced down the hallway.

A door opened behind them and they stopped, Isaac’s hair was ruffled from sleep and his nose was wrinkled as he stared at them. “You guys reek like sex, it’s gross.”

Erica still felt the pull towards the end of the hall, and it was obvious Boyd and Isaac did as well from the way their bodies shifted. Still, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to smirk and tell him “Not my fault you’re not getting laid.” She let her fingers lace with Boyd’s, completely comfortable in his presence and her own skin now. It hadn’t always been that way. When they were still new she had been afraid to touch him in front of the others, afraid to let her eyes linger on him. She’d lost track of the number of times she’d showered just so the rest of the pack wouldn’t smell him on her.

She’d stopped caring so much long before he’d put a ring on her finger. She’d stopped caring around the time the Alpha’s had dug into their skin and made them scream while the other had watched, when they had just started feeling what each other felt.

Isaac just wrinkled his nose again and shook his head retreating back into his room, muttering as he closed the door “I really need to get my own place, maybe then I can get some sleep.”

Erica felt Boyd laugh before she heard him, some of the panic draining from their bodies and she pulled him towards the end of the hall. It always took them a moment to readjust, to remember that this feeling didn’t mean they needed to be alert.

Erica pushed open the door and they both stopped at the sight in front of them.

Derek’s held a dark skinned infant against his bare chest. He glanced up his eyes softer than normal “He’s hungry.” It still amazed her that Derek would know that before any of them. He said it was because he was the Alpha. He had reassured her that he didn’t mind.

Erica held out her arms and Derek settled the baby in them. He turned to her and she felt him calm, feeling Boyd and Derek relax around her feeling the same thing. Baring her breast she feed her child staring down at him in wonder. Boyd was the warmth against her back and Derek was a steadying feeling in front of her. This was her pack.

* * *

30.

**Pairings: Derek/??**

**Warning: sex while in beta form (IS THAT BESTIALITY?), implied Incest**

The wolf still remembered a time when the moon was about pack and unity.

He remembered being a young pup and wrestling with his siblings until Mother Alpha decided that it was time for all good wolf-pups to sleep. The feeling of safety and love that came with those memories – the way they all piled together to sleep, unable to do it on their own – still brings an ache to his heart.

The moon hadn’t been about pack since the night those memories burned to the ground. He only had his mate now.

They had a pack again for the first time since the family died but the wolf had little interest under the light of the moon. His human spent enough time – too much time – concerning himself with the pack while denying himself the one thing that neither of them can live without. The wolf, as always, looked after their needs.

The moon became about this; about the hunt, the claim.

His pack surrounded him in the woods when the moon rose and he surfaced but he paid them no attention. They didn’t try to stop him when he broke away, tracking the elusive scent of his mate.

It didn’t take him long to find who he was looking for – it rarely did – and the wolf rumbled in satisfaction when he entered a clearing near his human’s home dwelling and finally set eyes on his mate. Laid bare on a blanket, smelling of arousal, his mate waited patiently for him to arrive like he did every full moon.

It was only when he was poised over his mate, settling down against him to feel their skin slide together, that he remembered his human was still wearing clothes when the moon rose. He growled and snapped, suddenly angry, but his mate touched a hand to face immediately while the other dipped between them to remove the clothing.

“It’s alright.” His mate soothed. “It’s alright, I’ve got it.”

The shirt was removed first and then both hands slid down his bare torso, unbuttoning the pants and shoving them down. It took some maneuvering before they were finally off. His mate settled back on the ground, pulling him down as well. There was nothing but skin this time and the wolf rumbled, pleased, as he moved against his mate. he His head dropped down to where a bite mark was visible on his mate’s shoulder, a claim that he made their first time and that his human fought against ever since.

A hand wriggled between them again but this time it wrapped around his cock, cold and slick. His pushed forward as he bit at his claim mark.

“I know,” his mate whispered. He nuzzled at the wolf’s cheek. “I know what you need.”

Arching, he guided the wolf forward until his cock pressed slowly inside. His mate’s encouraging sounds and the feeling of tight heat around him was enough to make the wolf lose what little control he had.

Their coupling was rough and frantic, the way it is every full moon. His human denied them both this vital pleasure, this claim on their mate, until the moon when they couldn’t resist the call any longer. It was the basest instinct of them all but they were only allowed this one night to indulge in it; this one night when, in the morning, his human could blame it on wolf instinct and the full moon.

Heat pooled in his belly too quickly but he pressed in deep and groaned, swelling inside his mate. Beneath him, it took only that and a few strokes of his own hand before his mate is spilled as well, his body tightening around the knot. They settled against each other, hands roaming slowly over sweat-slick skin as their hearts calmed.

The night continued on in much the same way. They waited for his knot to lessen and then the wolf claimed his mate again and again until they were sated and tired. They fell asleep in the clearing wrapped up in one another, knowing that in the morning they would part and it would be like the night never happened. Like the Alpha of Beacon Hills had no mate and the only things tying them together were blood and grief.

* * *

31.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning: n/a**

Derek's eyes are closed, his head thrown back to display the gorgeous line of his neck. "More," he says, arm muscles straining as he pulls on the restraints tying him to the bed. His voice, usually so steady and alpha-like and similar bullshit, is cracking. "I need... faster..."

"Always so bossy," Stiles groans, biting down on the soft spot where Derek's neck meets the shoulder, then licking the spot. One hand is buried in Derek's sweat-damp hair, the other gripping Derek's hip hard enough to bruise.

"You love it when I'm bossy," Derek says instead, looking up at Stiles's from between his lashes, shuddering under him. His chest rises and falls with every breath.

It's true, Stiles does love it, Stiles loves all of it. Loves having Derek tied up and spread under him, loves how Derek fits around him, hot and perfect, loves how Derek whispers obscenities into his skin.

"Come on," Derek says, breathless and impatient, but Stiles is already running his hand over Derek's thigh, pushing up Derek's knees and hooking them over his own shoulders. The angle's better that way. With the next thrust, Derek screams.

Stiles's hips stutter. "Did it hurt?" he asks, watching his face carefully because Derek might be a big bad werewolf but he also has never been good at acknowledging his own limits.

Derek manages to glare at him, at the absurdity of the idea that Stiles could ever hurt him. "Don't stop," he moans. His hips jerk up, trying to match Stiles's movements. "Fuck, Stiles, don't you dare stop now. So close... fuck..."

Stiles feels close too but doesn't want to come, not just yet, wants to feel Derek come undone around him first. Because it's not something that happens very often. Not that Stiles is unhappy with their usual arrangement of handjobs and blowjobs and Derek fucking him into the mattress, but this is good too, this is great, Stiles wants to make the most of it.

Derek smacks Stiles's ass with the flat of his hand. "Stop talking and fuck me already," he says, and Stiles does. He fucks Derek in short, deep thrusts that leave them both breathless, until Derek isn't moaning any more, his fists are clenching and unclenching and tugging at leather restrains that won't give.

"I wish you could see yourself right now," Stiles says, fisting one hand into the sheets, almost choking on the words. "You look like a mess... total mess... the thought I'm the one who made you look like that, fuck, Derek... you have no idea what it does to me..."

Derek's cock is trapped between their bellies. Stiles shifts a little and takes Derek in hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts. It takes only a few touches to make Derek come. He goes over the edge with a muffled cry, spilling all over his body and Stiles's hand. Stiles feels Derek's muscles clench around him, and it's so tight and so good, so much that he might cry, it's even better than he thought.

It's his voice that does it for Stiles, though, Derek's voice mumbling his name, sounding utterly broken. He thrusts inside Derek one more time and comes, shaking and shuddering, with Derek's hands on the small of his back keeping him close.

It takes a great effort for Stiles not to fall over Derek when he stops twitching, but he does. He braces himself on his forearms and slides out of Derek, slowly, relishing Derek's little hisses as he does. Derek unhooks his legs from Stiles's shoulders and Stiles pulls him in for a kiss before untying the leather straps tying Derek's arms to the headboards.

Derek's wrists are a little red and sore, but they don't look too bad. Stiles helps him massage some life back into his fingers, not quite managing to keep a self-satisfied smile off his lips. "I win," he says. "I told you I could find a way to make magical werewolf-proof restraints."

Derek smirks and pulls him in for a kiss. "That's one bet I didn't mind losing," he says against Stiles's lips.

* * *

32.

**Pairings: Derek/Isaac**

**Warning: biting, rough sex**

Isaac starts shaking once Derek gets him into the shower.

Derek takes the brunt of the water until its scalding, and then he maneuvers Isaac under the spray. A couple seconds under and Isaac whimpers, presses his face against Derek's neck. "What did they do to me?"

It's hard to force the words out between chattering teeth. There's a chill beneath his skin, an empty echo that leaves him feeling scraped inside out. He thinks that what the witches had been trying to do, rip out everything that made him a person until they had only the wolf in human form. He can still catch traces of the syrupy stench of magic, but its fading beneath the strong clean scent of the water, and of Derek.

"In order to make you their familiar, they had to sever the pack bond." Derek's voice is a low rumble, a growl lurking beneath the words. Isaac stiffens, heart leaping in his throat. Derek curls a hand around the back of his neck, claws pricking at the soft skin. "They didn't succeed, but they did manage to do some damage."

Derek's hand flexes, the claws pressing deeper, and Isaac thinks about Derek crouched over him, muzzle dripping blood as he snarled at the rest of the soon to be dead witches. He arches his neck into it the claws, hands too tight where he's holding onto Derek's waist. "Can we fix it?"

There isn't an immediate answer, just the faint pop of the shampoo bottle and Derek's hands in his hair. Isaac tilts his head back, feels the bone deep chill starting to fade. He doesn't know if it's the water or the press of Derek's body, but he feels a little steadier.

"Time with the pack will put it back to normal."

"That's it?"

"No. Now rinse."

Huffing, Isaac tilts his head back beneath the water, reaching up to smooth his hair back against his scalp. Once he's sure his hair is relatively clean of soap he steps out from underneath the water. He's wiping the water out of his eyes when he's turned and pushed against the shower wall. It's not rough, but it's not gentle either, Derek's teeth scraping against the back of his shoulder.

"I can still smell them on you." He buries his face against Isaac's neck, his cock pressing up against his ass. There's a low growl and Derek's scent grows deeper, sharper, cutting through the clean scent of the water and shampoo. "You don't smell like you're mine anymore."

Isaac sucks in a breath, hands fisting against the shower wall. Derek is hot against his back, the sting of teeth at his shoulder making him burn. But the cold is still there, a hollow ache that pulls a whine out of him. "Derek."

"I felt it the moment they started the spell." There's the sharp press of teeth on the back of his shoulder before Derek pulls away. He's back before Isaac can protest, another small pop and the sharp scent of the body wash. Forehead resting against the shower wall, hot water pouring against his side, he spreads his legs for Derek's fingers. "I can still taste their blood on my tongue."

Isaac moans, the walls too slick to find any kind of purchase. "The spell. It tried to hollow me out." He can still feel the razor sharp chill as it sliced through him, as if something inside him had been set loose and was chewing through everything it could find.

There's a snarl behind him and the fingers disappear, another soft wheeze of the soap bottle as Derek squeezes out some more. It hurts when Derek finally pushes inside, the soap barely slicking the way, but the pain fits. Derek lays claim with bruises and angry, sharp thrusts, the low continuous growl bleeding through Derek's chest and into his back making his legs weak as his wolf tells him to offer his belly, his neck, everything.

The cold lingers, a ball of ice in his chest, until Derek wraps his hand around his cock and sinks his teeth into Isaac's shoulder at the same time. The last remnants of the spell snuff out like a candle in the breeze as his orgasm smashes through him, washed away by the heat of Derek's release and the sharp pain of his Alpha renewing his claim.

Derek doesn't pull out. Instead he holds Isaac against the wall and proceeds to clean the bite with his tongue.

* * *

33.

**Pairings: Derek/Isaac/Erica/Boyd**

**Warnings: none**

**It’s such a chore**

“A chore wheel?” Isaac exclaimed in dismay when Derek brought it up.

“Do we really need this?” Erica asked from the couch, her legs across Boyd’s lap.

“Apparently. Boyd is the only one who cleans the toilet, I’m the only one who scrubs the floors, Isaac calls dibs on dishes every night and you’ll only clean the living room if there’s something good on TV,” Derek replied, frustrated.

Erica shrugged. “It’s not my fault everything’s on hiatus.”

“This will keep everything fair. We share a house and a bed. This is going to work.”

That, apparently, was that.

*******

Until it wasn’t.

It took Derek a couple weeks to catch on. The dusting was done perfectly on the first try and all the laundry was folded the same day.

This was weird because Boyd was on dusting and Isaac on laundry, which both of them detested with a passion.

The more Derek watched for oddities in the chores the more he noticed them done _right >. Which wasn't right._

He should've let it go.

He's glad he didn't, though.

A month into the chore wheel Derek was walking past the room they all shared and heard Isaac moaning. It wasn't unusual for him to take matters into his own hands when he was by himself but if he needed contact he'd usually come to Derek.

The alpha moved quietly to the door that was cracked open and peeked in. On their super king Isaac was knelt in the centre while Erica crouched in front of him and sucked his cock. Isaac's head was titled back, eyes to the ceiling and turned gold while his claws rhythmically kneaded into Erica's scalp.

"Yeah, yeah," he groaned, hips starting to thrust, a sure sign he was getting ready to come. Erica reached between his legs, around his pants that were hastily shoved down and pulled his balls a little, sending a familiar spike through Isaac's body.

"Erica!" Isaac gasped and he came down her throat quickly, holding her head. Erica gagged a couple times but she dutifully swallowed all of him down. Derek knew she loved the taste of her mates, loved it when they forced it into her.

Without warning Isaac pushed Erica down and flipped her onto her stomach, ripping her tiny shorts down with one hand while the other went to her mouth for her to suck in his fingers.

Erica laved at Isaac's digits lovingly, getting them so wet she was drooling down her chin. Isaac pulled them out without warning and just as suddenly pushed two into her pussy.

"Fuck, Isaac!" Erica whined and pushed her hips against his hand. "More, please!" Isaac liked being in control, though, and he teased her with only two fingers while his other hand reached around and tickled over her clit without actually working it.

"Isaac, I swear to fucking god..." Erica tried to threaten but it came out more like a whine. It was enough, though, and Isaac finally thrust three fingers into her and started circling her clit with the pads of his fingers with his other hand, just the way they all knew she liked.

"Yes, yes, yes," Erica chanted, rocking back and forth.

From this angle Derek could see how slick she was, how Isaac's fingers came out glistening and sticky from her wetness.

The ensuite bathroom door opened suddenly and Boyd stepped through, totally naked. “Who wants to trade me for bathroom duty this week?”

Isaac’s hand stilled and Erica growled low, her eyes flashing. “Isaac!”

“I’ve taken her yardwork so you fuck Erica,” Isaac replied, pulling away from Erica’s body. Derek’s eyebrows shot up as he realized they were trading sexual favors for chores.

Those fuckers.

“I don’t care what I have to do, someone just put their hand, their fucking dick in me _now_ ” Erica bellowed.

Derek finally opened the door and stood in the entry way.

“Should have known it wasn’t working like it should,” Derek mused. Boyd and Isaac looked guilty, somewhat, but Erica just looked tortured.

“Please,” she begged. “Derek, fuck me.”

Derek shoved his pants down quickly, already hard and leaking. He kneeled behind her on the bed and pushed into her in one stroke, wrenching a stifled scream from his beta.

“Only if you do the grocery shopping this week.” Derek pulled out and in again, hard. “And the chore wheel stays.”

* * *

34.

**Pairings: Erica/Boyd/Isaac**

**Warning:Unsafe Sex**

Isaac’s limbs felt heavy with exhaustion and sore in a way that had everything to do with pushing his body too far in the name of progress. Humidity hung heavy in the depot and made the molasses thick air feel that much more unbearable against his sweat damp skin. Even the jersey basketball shorts he stole from Derek felt too heavy and hung low on his hips. The cotton sheet they threw over the haphazardly shoved together practice mats clung and slid uncomfortably across his skin.

Erica lay sprawled next to him, out like an overworked kitten, curled on her side, and desperately trying to get comfortable enough to get some sort of sleep. Tossing and turning restlessly clad only in the world’s tiniest pair of purple panties. It was a wonderfully distracting sight and Isaac had no doubt that was a conscious decision on her part. He only wished he were functional enough to properly enjoy them. They didn’t have a word yet for what they were, only that once it started they never questioned it and never once looked back. The three of them were pack and whatever else more was too important to risk breaking.

The quiet thunder of cement cracking echoed down to them. Derek always took Boyd on last and ran him ragged. They were strong, the three of them, but Boyd was his closest match when it came to sheer physical power and stamina. Their sparring sessions were a spectacle to behold and sex after had become a sort of tradition, though they’ve yet to find a word that properly described what they were to each other. Tonight though, he was just so _tired_...

Even when Boyd finally made his way over to them, prudently naked with his sex swinging full and heavy between his thighs, the most Isaac could manage was a small hurt sound for being too exhausted to put it in his mouth. He had a beautiful cock. Erica answered with a garbled, sleepy sounding snarl, and a half-hearted kick in the general direction of his shin. Boyd was chuckling as he carefully wedged himself between the two of them on the makeshift bed until they lay spooned together, backs to the wall and too hot to sleep.

Isaac smoothed a hand down his his side as if to ease the fatigue in his trembling muscles, pausing to savor the cut of his hip and then smooth swell of his ass. Squeezed it.

He gave a rumbling groan and Isaac couldn’t help but to grin and slide his hand forward, stroke his stomach and feel the muscles there flex. No one was up to anything, they never were after a proper training session, but he couldn’t help but want to _touch_... Erica’s breathing changed. He could feel Boyd’s forearm flex as he worked soft, slow, and intent circles between her legs. Isaac paused his stroking to just watch and listen as Boyd slid her underwear down, spit into his palm, and slicked himself before moving to fuck into her.

He cupped himself, feeling his cock jerk against his palm as Boyd pulled her close to his chest and began to thrust up into her in smooth, steady pushes. Isaac fell back and pulled himself out of his shorts groaning. The tip of his cock was wet with precum and he moved to snuggle against Boyd, wetting and nestling it between the plump cheeks of his ass. The friction there was steady, easy. It made him flush hot and work himself over with single-minded, desperate little pulls designed to get him off as quickly as possible. He panted against his back, felt the slightest bit of drool escape the corner of his mouth as he finally jerked and came, orgasm washing over him in thick, syrupy pulls that made him whine and bite.

Isaac lay there after, too tired to pull his shorts back up and feeling a bit like a broken doll cracked open with pleasure. Listened to Boyd moaning and panting into Erica’s nape as he came with something that felt suspiciously like contentment. Desire swirled easily under his skin, even as sleep finally crashed into him. It pulled him under as Erica’s harsh groans and the wet sound of Boyd working her over the edge with his fingers echoed like a lullaby in his ears.

* * *

35.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning: n/a**

Derek fidgeted with the towel, running his fingers along the edge and brushing against Stiles' clean, damp skin. Momentarily bashful, he couldn't look Stiles in the eye when he asked, "Do you still want my knot?"

"Fuck yes," Stiles said with an incredulous laugh. "I thought you said you understood."

Stiles brought his hand to Derek's chin and tilted his face so they were nose to nose, looking into each other’s eyes. "I only want you. I know what mating means to you. I understand it's forever. I want that."

"God, I love you," Derek breathed, and then his mouth was on Stiles' again, their tongues tangling as they stumbled their way across the hall.

He'd been so determined not to trap Stiles in a relationship he might regret later, he didn't realize Stiles had already made his choice. Derek's need to mate now, to consummate, was fierce. He pushed Stiles onto the bed and grabbed the lube from the nightstand drawer.

He carefully worked Stiles open on his fingers. By the time he was sure Stiles could take the knot with minimal pain, Stiles was writhing and gasping on the bed, fingernails digging crescent shapes into Derek’s forearms. He wished those marks would stay forever, wished he could have an imprint of Stiles on his skin for everyone to see.

"Jesus _fuck_ , Derek. You have to fuck me now," Stiles begged.

Slowly, Derek eased his cock in. He paused when he was fully seated inside; he could hardly believe he'd been given this opportunity again.

"I almost lost you," he whispered into Stiles' mouth. "In so many ways. Never letting you go again."

"Works for me," Stiles replied, and wrapped his arms around Derek's back.

Derek moved slowly at first, withdrawing and pushing back in at a snail's pace, wanting only to savor every second of the experience of being with Stiles again. As Stiles began to sweat, Derek buried his nose in his neck, inhaling deep breaths of the scent he'd been without for far too long. It smelled like _mate_. He felt his knot start to grow and, this time, didn't suppress it. Rather, he buried himself inside Stiles and let go.

Stiles inhaled sharply; Derek heard his heart race, but Stiles didn't release his hold on him.

"Does it hurt?" Derek asked when he smelled the sharp tang of Stiles' pain.

"A little. But it's good. Don't stop," Stiles panted.

Derek's knot continued to swell; he rolled his hips so he was still moving, but no longer tried to thrust in and out. Using the precome pooled on his stomach to slick Stiles' cock, he stroked Stiles roughly, rubbing his thumb against his frenulum with every pass, trying to bring Stiles off quickly.

"Fuck, _yes_ ," Stiles whimpered into Derek's shoulder. "So good."

It didn't take long before Stiles came in warm bursts over his stomach and Derek's hand. His whole body stiffened, muscles clenching and releasing through his orgasm. Derek felt every little twitch right in his cock, surrounding his knot, and it was altogether too much. He came with a shout, and pressed his pelvis hard against Stiles' ass, pushing his knot as deep inside as humanly possible.

He rubbed his hand through the mess on Stiles' stomach before bringing it to his mouth and sucking the mixture of come and sweat off his fingers.

Stiles kissed him through his come-covered fingers. It was awkward and messy, but the taste and smell and feel of Stiles utterly _wrecked_ Derek, and he felt another wave of come leave him with a shiver.

"How is it?" Stiles asked quietly moments later.

Derek grunted.

Stiles' responding laughter shook them, jostling Derek's dick inside him and forcing another rush of come out of him.

"Jesus," Stiles said. "It's weird. I didn't think I'd be able to feel _everything_."

"Are you—" Derek started. "I mean, do you wish we hadn't...?"

"Seriously? Don't piss me off now. I will get up out of this bed."

Derek looked down where they were locked together, then back up at Stiles with an eyebrow raised in question.

"Okay, so maybe I won't get up. But I will be cranky. You won't like me when I'm cranky."

"I like you any way I can get you."

"Thank God for that. Because I'm pretty sure you can't get rid of me now."

Derek kissed him.

"Don't want to."

* * *

36.

**Pairings: Mr. and Mrs. Argent**

The worst part about losing someone is the aftermath of silence. After all the rites and rituals are done and everyone has returned home, after the last lasagna is tossed into the trash and no one remains but the ghosts of memories and sorrow... That’s when the hard part begins. 

For Chris Argent, the endless days after (in his head, _The Endless Days After)_ loomed endlessly before him. He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear the silence limned by the pain of his daughter’s sobs beyond her closed door.

He couldn’t bear the being alone part, his life-bond to the woman he loved above all severed thanks to a fucking werewolf.

Carrying the curse of the werewolf to one’s grave was the worst, the death hunters feared the most. Victoria had done so with a grace he knew he would never have found. She would scoff at his melodrama, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d always been the more emotional, she the stronger. Stronger, braver, tougher, smarter... She was everything he was not, more of an Argent than he was.

A ghost of a smile flitted past his lips as he wandered into her study. His fingers trickled over her things. He’d pushed aside this month’s bills on her desk when he heard it, the faint tink of metal against metal. Curious, he pushed the papers aside, finding the source of the noise. A copper puzzle ring he’d given to her. He hadn’t known she still had it.

 _”You’re_ Argent Junior, right?”

Chris looked across the wash basin into the amused green eyes of a beautiful girl with flaming red hair. He gaped, snapping his mouth shut as she bent down, her breasts nearly tumbling out of her low-cut shirt as she washed the blood from her hands.

“No. I’m not... I’m Chris, but not a junior.” He finished washing and picked up his ring. It’d come undone but he quickly reformed it, aware of her scrutiny. 

She walked around the basin and grabbed his hand, her fingers rubbing suggestively across the ring. “This is pretty. A puzzle ring?”

“Yes. It was my mother’s.” He showed her how to solve it.

“Where did she get it? I’ve never seen one quite like it.” Her thigh rubbed against his.

“My father gave it to her.”

Her gaze drifted to his mouth. He licked his lips, unbearably conscious of her heat. He could smell her scent, overwhelmingly female mixed with the musty smell of the woods and the kill they’d left behind. A dab of blood marred her cheek. His cock throbbed in his jeans and his breath quickened; she smiled, ran one finger down his chest.

“What did she have to do to get it?” she whispered, then laughed at his widened eyes. “Help you clean up?”

He nodded. It was that moment he realized they were completely alone, all the others having left them, as the youngest hunters, to clean up. So when she pulled her shirt off, then his, and then their boots and their jeans followed, and she’d pulled him down onto the leaves and straddled him, engulfing him in her hot, tight pussy, he’d thought he’d died and gone to heaven for sure.

That was the first time she showed him she always knew what she was doing. Grabbing his hands she placed them on her breasts, encouraging him to pinch her nipples. She ground into him in response, canting her head back as she rode him, her weight pinning him deliciously down,

Her mouth covered his and he held her tight, his cock exploding into her just as she cried out in release. It was glorious, amazing, and as she collapsed on top of him, panting hard, his spent cock still slick and pulsing inside her, he heard her soft laughter in his ear.

“Did I earn it, then?”

“Yes.” Holding her tight and not giving a damn if someone came upon them now, he slid the ring off and onto her finger, their bonding complete.

“I’ll keep it forever,” she whispered. “’Til death us do part.”

And she had.

He slid the ring onto his finger. He would wear it, to remind him though his wife was gone forever, their bond could never truly be severed. “Thank you, Victoria.” He slipped out of the room to go tell his daughter a story she needed to hear. Most of it anyway.

Maybe now he could drop the ‘endless’ from _The Days After._


	3. Group C (With Warnings)

37.

**Pairings: Allison/Scott/Stiles**

**Warning: (offscreen) character death, grieving**

They've known they would be pack forever. Scott was always going to be the alpha, though. She and Stiles would be the claws and teeth to back him up. Scott just seems like the alpha type, watchful and caring underneath.

Allison should have known that everything would go wrong.

***

Her boys still keep her warm at night. She needs them now more than ever.

"Shh, we're here," Scott tells her, holding her tight as she cries.

Stiles doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. He knows how it feels.

***

Allison doesn't know where Lydia's allegiances lie anymore. With the Hales and their crossbows, or the Argents' moon-running ways? When Allison passes by her in the halls, she smells slightly of wolfsbane.

"How could you even _think_ ," Lydia says, when Allison asks. "I've been _protecting_ you. After everything Peter Hale has done to me, all these bruises, you thought—"

"I didn't know," Allison says, trying not to sound as hollow as she feels.

"Of course you didn't know," Lydia says, bitter. "Did you ever pay attention?"

Allison's wolf doesn't whimper when Lydia walks away, as it might have once done. Instead, it growls.

***

She doesn't know how to handle it.

The moon is a thousand times stronger than it ever was before. She gasps under the gibbous, hand in her pajama bottoms, working furiously. She wants to howl, wants her boys beside her, inside her, anywhere. She bites her lips, but her teeth slice through.

This has never happened to her before.

***

"It'll be okay," Stiles says, furiously googling. "People deal with this. There are guides. Just because your mom didn't manage to teach you everything about alpha-hood before she—"

A growl forces its way out of Allison's throat, cutting him off.

He shouldn't have—her mom is _off-limits_. He, of all people, should know that. She is angry with him, wolf-angry, and the frozen way he is bent over his laptop says he knows it.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Get down," she growls.

"Allison, I—"

" _Down_ ," she snarls, nearly a roar.

His mouth gets him into trouble sometimes; she and Scott have been trying to train him out of it. It's a rule that she is more than happy to enforce right now: he shuts his mouth, or else uses it for something worthwhile.

She pins him to the floor with her thighs. Thankfully she's in a skirt—she accidentally shreds her panties trying to get them off.

"Sorry, sorry," he repeats, eyes golden and wide, before she shuts him up.

She rides his face harder than she ever has before. His tongue is clever, goes deep, but nothing scratches the itch inside her. It's _frustrating_ , more than anything.

"Don't jerk off," she says some time later. She hasn't come, so he isn't allowed to either.

He groans and rolls over, wiping the mess off his face. She'll smell it on him if he disobeys. Her new nose can easily tell the difference between an impossibly horny beta and the almost tangibly sexual smell of someone satisfied.

***

She's afraid of Scott, in a way. Everyone knows that two alphas can break a pack apart.

"Don't be like that," he says to her, when she admits this. "We're here for you, whatever happens. Two alphas, or no alphas. That's not going to change."

***

Lydia hasn't spoken to her since that day.

Maybe it's for the best. The wolfsbane scent around her is fading.

***

"I can't do this," Allison cries, eyes burning uncontrollably red as moonrise nears.

"You can," her father says. "You're the strongest person I know."

His eyes are clear and blue, and he bares his throat, easy.

***

She wasn't supposed to have a heat for years. But alphas—they're different animals entirely.

The boys fuck her in turns, sometimes together. Scott tries to kiss her mouth and hisses as she bites his lips bloody. She wants more, more. She's sweating, can't stop writhing, grinding down and milking them dry as they gasp underneath her. It lasts all night, and into the morning.

When the heat finally leaves her, she feels cool air against her skin.

She blinks, and her eyes return to normal.

***

Derek Hale is wary, but not hostile. They gas up their cars at opposite pumps.

She puts on her most impassive face. For him, she can pretend she doesn't hurt at all.

***

"We're your pack," Scott whispers, soothing the restless wolf inside her. "We're yours."

Stiles bumps her shoulder with his, smiling.

Their love presses into the bruises on her heart. She thinks, maybe, that it's a good kind of hurt.

Maybe she's on the mend.

* * *

38.

**Pairings: Danny/Stiles**

**Warning: None**

It's a cold draft that wakes Danny. He tries to blink his eyes open but the turkey and spiked egg nog work against him. Not that it matters. He knows the weight and the shape of the body behind him.

"Daaanny," Stiles sing-songs into Danny's ear.

Danny nuzzles into his pillow. "Separate bedrooms, Stiles. I distinctly remember your dad's orders: sleeping in separate bedrooms."

"We are!" Stiles squeaks in a hoarse whisper. "Technically, you were sleeping while I was in another room. Now, we're not. Sleeping."

Danny can't stop his chuckle, and he rolls over to be met by Stiles' knowing grin. He's wearing Danny's old lacrosse t-shirt, the one that's worn thin from washing and hangs loose on Stiles' narrower shoulders, exposing his collar bone, a glimpse of chest hair. Danny squirms closer and tucks his face into Stiles' neck, biting a kiss there.

"Your dad is the _sheriff_. He has _guns_ ," Danny protests. He betrays himself, though, mouthing at Stiles' collar bone, his shoulder, underneath Stiles' chin. Any soft place he can find.

Stiles lets out a shuddery breath, tangles his legs with Danny's, and whines a little. "It's a rite of passage, Danny. Having sex in your childhood bed when you're home for the holidays. We'd be going against the laws of god and man if we let this moment pass!"

He squirms out of his shirt, then, and attempts to do the same to Danny; Danny lets him. It's been a long few weeks, prepping for finals and _taking_ finals and wrapping things up for the end of the semester. He's missed even the simple things like lying on the couch in nothing but their boxers, trading lazy kisses, palming miles of smooth skin. Danny drags his nails over the constellation of moles low on Stiles' back, the one Danny's always playing connect-the-dots with, with whatever color Sharpie he can reach. He swallows Stiles' moan with a kiss.

Stiles is hard in his pajamas, quietly rubbing off against Danny's thigh. Danny's hard, too, and the friction feels good, blunted by the cotton, sweet. It's almost like they're teenagers again, fumbling through sex for the first time.

"Wait, wait," Stiles gasps. He rests his head on Danny's shoulder, lungs working for air, then says, "We're not teenagers. Pants off." and starts pushing at their pants in turns. Stiles isn't satisfied until they're down around their knees, and he goes back to kissing Danny, leaning in close to get a hand around their cocks. His grip is firm, warm where it snugs under the crown. They're both a little wet, and Danny thinks he can feel the throb of Stiles' pulse.

Stiles tilts his head back to kiss Danny, his eyes wide and dark. He can't seem to find a rhythm, and Danny realizes it's because he's using his left hand, after the way he got into bed.

Danny's fingers slot neatly with Stiles' and they find their pace together, hips thrusting into their combined grip, soft grunts getting lost in each others' mouths. Danny wants to get his free hand in Stiles' hair, but it's pinned by Stiles' body, so his nails dig into Stiles' shoulder instead, teeth scraping over Stiles' chin.

The bed they're in is smaller than what they're used to, a twin with a lumpy comforter, but it's cozy with the neighbors' decorations still on outside, twinkling red-blue-green-white. Feels right in a way it probably shouldn't, Stiles coming on a breathy groan, Danny following right behind.

It's quiet, after, only the wet sounds of their messy kisses breaking the silence. Stiles has to stop every so often to giggle and Danny chastises him with a careful bite to his neck or shoulder. Stiles calms down enough to fish their pajamas out from between the sheets, using them to clean up the mess of come on their stomachs, then tosses them to the floor. It feels like Stiles is settling in, snuggling into the mattress on a contented sigh. And it's not that Danny minds, but there's the whole thing about separate bedrooms, still.

Stiles grumbles at the elbow to his side. "Relax," he hisses, glomming onto Danny with eight too many limbs. "I'll wake up before he does. I've got it down to a science."

Danny's skeptical, but the warmth is comforting and it feels like he's only been half-awake the whole time anyway. It doesn't take much to convince himself to trust Stiles and settle in.

* * *

39.

**Pairings: Stiles/Derek**

**Warning: none**

Derek crashes in through Scott’s bedroom window, covered in drying blood and grime. He doesn’t hesitate, moves towards the sound of soft voices and that lifeline of a heartbeat that he knows so well. He moves down the corridor towards them, hears Scott say “oh jesus, okay mom don’t freak out” just before he throws the door to the room wide.

Stiles is sleeping in Mrs. McCall’s bed, his side bandaged neatly. Derek hasn’t seen him since he sent him away in Scott’s arms and the mere sight of him shatters Derek’s heart into a million pieces. He has faith that Scott’s mom followed the instructions he’d shouted at Scott, but he leans in and sniffs along the wound until he is satisfied that Stiles will come out of this unscathed.

Derek climbs into the bed next to Stiles, sparing no thought to the filth he is leaving all over Mrs. McCall’s bedsheets, only able to focus on carefully moving Stiles into his arms. Stiles squirms against him but still doesn’t open his eyes. He does, however, relax in Derek’s arms, body melting against him as he breathes in deeply and whispers “Thank god.” Derek pulls him closer, buries his nose in Stiles’ hair.

Mrs. McCall looks a bit nonplussed, and he can see Scott motioning for her to join him in leaving the room. Stiles shifts, wincing, and mumbles “d’you get him?”

“Yeah,” Derek sighs. There wasn’t much left of the Omega by the time Derek was finished with him.

“Knew you were okay though.” Stiles reeks of bravado. “I mean, I’d have felt something, if you’d...” he slides his hand under Derek’s filthy shirt, not-so-discreetly checking for injuries. “Right?”

“Probably.” Derek isn’t so sure, recalls running across town in a panic, something in the back of his mind saying that Stiles was okay but a bigger part of him ready to rend the entire world if he was not.

“I think I would,” Stiles insists, “ever since we...y’know.” Stiles takes a deep breath. “It’s like you’re with me, somehow, even when you’re not. Is that...that’s weird, isn’t it. Sorry, it’s just...”

“It’s not weird.” Derek kisses him and wishes he knew more about this thing between them, wishes that there was someone to tell him how it worked when you tied your soul to something as brilliant and breakable as this. “I’m taking you home, c’mon.” He helps Stiles sit up, cringes

“It’s a _little_ weird.”

Derek huffs in reply, dresses Stiles carefully in his t-shirt and hoodie, helps him out of the house and into the Camaro, and drives him home. Derek’s body loses a fraction of its tension when he sees that Stiles’ house stands empty, and they take their time making it up the stairs. By the time they get to Stiles’ room and maneuver him into clean pajamas, he’s a pale and sweating mess.

“Oh my god, you’re disgusting,” Stiles says, as though he’s only now noticed. “Go take a shower already, Jesus.”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Derek laughs as he heads for the bathroom.

He climbs into bed with Stiles, presses their bodies as close as possible. He runs his hands over every inch of skin in front of him, envisions the bruises that are surely taking shape. He takes his time kissing Stiles all over, soothing and claiming all at once. He kisses his way down Stiles’ body, bites gently at a hip bone before taking his cock into his mouth.

He sucks him slowly, deeply. Takes Stiles as deep as he can, cock making space in the back of his throat.

“Can you do the thing?” Stiles has his eyes closed, one hand fisted gently in Derek’s hair.

“The thing?” Derek rubs Stiles cock against his cheek.

“Yeah, you know, the thing.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him.

“Like you did after Peter left?”

Derek smirks, swallows Stiles down again. He works him with one hand, sucking with the motion he knows brings fast results. Stiles’ cries out raggedly as he shoots his load into Derek’s mouth, hips rising up off the mattress.

Derek slides up the bed with a mouth full of come, swallows the filthy moan that comes out of Stiles when he kisses him. He pushes Stiles’ come into his mouth with his tongue, kisses him until they run out of breath.

Stiles settles back against his pillows, pulls Derek close. He closes his eyes but doesn’t sleep, just listens to the sounds of Stiles being alive.

* * *

40.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning: knotting**

Derek places his hand over Stiles’ heart where the puncture marks have almost faded. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want this.”

Stiles puts his hand over Derek’s. “I wanted to _live_. And I gave you permission a long time ago if there was no other way.”

&&&

“So you’re both alphas now?” Isaac asks incredulously.

Stiles answers before Derek can. “We were already mated. When he turned me, we became an alpha pair.”

Erica smirks. “So if Daddy won’t let me borrow the car, does that mean that I can ask Mommy to—”

“Nobody borrows the Camaro,” Derek snarls.

&&&

Derek doesn’t let Stiles drag him to the bedroom; he pushes back, makes Stiles use more and more of his new strength to take what he wants. By the time they’re on the bed, Derek’s shirt is in actual shreds. “I can get you naked faster now,” Stiles sing-songs, and Derek can feel the point of a fang graze his earlobe.

“How do you want me?” Derek breathes, grabbing the lube from the nightstand and quickly prepping himself.

“On your stomach,” Stiles says, eyes flashing red.

Derek kisses Stiles quickly but deeply, rolling over onto his stomach and pulling one knee up, opening himself to Stiles. “Oh my god, Derek,” he hears in a harsh whisper behind him. It’s not like Stiles has never seen him like this before, but Stiles’ new wolf has never been presented with submission like this and it’s got to be making him _crazy_.

Stiles slides home in one long, achingly slow push, his voice catching on Derek’s name as his hips start a steady pace. It’s good, but a little too familiar. “You’re holding back,” Derek grunts. “Don’t.”

Stiles bends and presses a hot, wet kiss to the back of Derek’s neck. “I love the hell out of you,” he whispers.

Then he takes Derek by the hips and sets about fucking him into oblivion. There’s some pain, yes, but the pleasure of being taken so forcefully by his mate overrides everything else.

“Okay, Derek,” Stiles says, breathless but not pausing. “I let go. Now you.”

He presses a hand between Derek’s shoulder blades and finds the angle that makes Derek wail. Stiles could fuck Derek for hours like this if he wanted to, a thought that grabs Derek so hard it takes him a few moments to realize that Stiles’ thrusts have shortened. Then Stiles freezes, and when Derek cranes his head up, Stiles is staring down, his mouth open.

“Holy fuck, do I have a knot?”

“Touch the base of your cock,” Derek says, trying and failing to keep his voice even. “Is it sensitive?”

Stiles wraps a hand around himself and immediately moans. “Holy god.”

“Do it,” Derek says, dropping back into position.

It takes Stiles a few wriggling thrusts to work the swelling knot in, and Derek is completely blindsided by the fullness. It’s so overwhelming he can’t move, can’t make a sound. This is Stiles staking pure, animal claim over him, something so far beyond sexual that Derek is sure even Stiles doesn’t have words for it.

Stiles has fallen forward on his hands, breath coming out in sobs against the back of Derek’s neck. All he can do now is grind against Derek, and when he hits the right spot at the same time that his teeth clamp down on the back of Derek’s neck, Derek comes in a white-hot rush of agonizing pleasure, untouched cock spurting hard all over the sheets.

Stiles starts to come with Derek’s final hard shudder, and he releases Derek’s neck to throw his head back and howl. Derek has never felt so proud, so desperately in love than at this moment. _He belongs to Stiles._ He always has, but his wolf is more sated now than it’s ever been.

Stiles is still coming when his arms give out and he collapses onto Derek’s back. Derek’s used to being able to shift them into a better position, but Stiles is new to this, so it takes some… negotiation before they’re comfortable. Stiles is wrapped around him, and that’s hardly uncommon, but now he’s the one filling _Derek_ up, holding him captive. 

Eventually, it occurs to Derek. “You haven’t said it yet.”

“Oh my god, I haven’t!” Stiles gasps. “Can I say it now?”

“Just get it over with.”

Stiles gets his lips right behind Derek’s ear, and what comes out is a growled whisper that has Derek quivering. “ _I’m the alpha now_.”

* * *

41.

**Pairings: Stiles/Derek**

**Warning: none**

Derek isn’t sleeping when the door to his room creaks open and a figure slips in. Derek doesn’t have to open his eyes to know its Stiles. His senses are attuned to him and Derek can recognize him as easily as breathing.

Stiles pads over to the bed on air, lifts the covers, and slides in.

“You awake?” Stiles asks.

“No,” Derek answers.

Stiles nudges him with a bare shoulder. “Liar.”

Derek sighs, shifts, opens his arms and Stiles dives in, snuggles against him, lays his head on Derek’s chest, tangles their feet. They fit like pieces of a puzzle.

“I’m nervous,” Stiles says.

Derek tightens his hold. He can hear the rabbit-beat of Stiles’ heart, can smell the acidic tang of nervous sweat, and can feel the fine tremors in Stiles’ frame.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because I’m getting married tomorrow.”

Derek’s heart clenches in uncertainty.

“The groom is awesome,” Stiles continues. “I’ve known him for a long time. That’s not the part I’m worried about.”

Derek lets out a relieved breath. Stiles pokes him. “Aw, you thought I was worried about you? So freaking cute!”

“It’s not like you had a choice.”

Derek can practically feel Stiles roll his eyes. “Not this again. Just because it was arranged beforehand doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have chosen you.”

There is no flutter in Stiles’ heartbeat, no uptick, no indication of a lie, but Derek can’t bring himself to believe it.

“It’s an alliance between our people. We were betrothed before you could talk. You must resent that.”

“The only thing I resent is the fact that my future husband can’t get it through his thick werewolf skull that I might like the idea of being bonded to him. I mean, you’re happy, right?”

Stiles’ voice comes out small. Derek kicks himself. He _never_ wanted to give Stiles the impression that he doesn’t want him. He absolutely does. Okay, maybe when his mother first presented the idea that Derek would have to marry some gangly spastic _faerie_ to appease an ancient supernatural law, Derek wasn’t happy.

But that changed over the years they courted, throughout the many times Stiles hosted Derek in the faerie hill, and the times Stiles visited the human world.

“Yes,” Derek answers, rolling on top of Stiles, pinning him to the soft mattress. Stiles’ eyes are wide in the moonlight, glowing honey-brown with warmth. His hair can’t decide if it wants to stick up or be flattened to the side of his head. His skin is luminous and pale, dotted with moles and with his blue-green faerie markings that trail over his shoulders, down his chest and torso. “Very happy,” Derek breathes.

Stiles smiles and Derek leans in, kisses him. Stiles opens for him, his mouth wet and warm. It stirs the want in Derek’s middle. He can feel Stiles harden against him, and Derek nips at Stiles’ bottom lip, lets out a low growl as Stiles’ hands fist in his hair, his own cock iron-hard.

“This,” Stiles pants as Derek licks his neck “is the part I’m nervous about.”

They haven’t. Not yet. Even with all the times they’ve shared a bed and all the make-outs that occurred in Derek’s car and Stiles’ room.

“Don’t be,” Derek says in Stiles’ ear, enjoying the full-body shudder that runs through Stiles beneath him. “I’ll take care of you.”

Stiles grasps Derek’s shoulders, fingernails digging in, legs bracketing Derek’s body. “Tell me what will happen again.”

“After the ceremony, I’ll take you to our marriage bed, kiss you,” Derek says, kissing Stiles, hard, filthy. “Open you up,” he punctuates that with a roll of his hips which leaves Stiles gasping. “Fuck you. Knot you,” he murmurs against Stiles’ throat. “Fill you up.”

“Then the bond will be complete,” Stiles says. He’s practically luminescent with arousal and Derek’s dick aches at the sight.

“We should – ”

“If you say stop I will fucking zap you,” Stiles says, hand clutching Derek’s ass, urging him forward. Derek loves Stiles’ penchant for human slang. He loves Stiles’ thirst for knowledge about everything. Derek loves that Stiles arches into every roll of his hips. He loves Stiles’ body, sinuous and lithe, and how his markings come alive when he moves.

He loves Stiles.

Derek pistons his hips, rubs against Stiles’ clothed cock. Stiles bites his lip, throws his head back. He comes with a moan and Derek follows, burying his face in Stiles’ neck.

“Still nervous?” Derek asks smirking.

Stiles smiles drowsily. “Not at all.”

* * *

42.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning: None.**

Sex is there. Sex is a thing. Sex happens. It's just not something Derek's very interested in.

Derek likes intimacy. Derek likes being possessive. Derek likes moments like this. They're curled in bed, Stiles working and Derek devouring his latest crime thriller when Stiles shuts his laptop.

"Done! I can't do any more on this tonight. I swear, if I spend any more time squinting at historical texts I'm going to go insane." He turns his bedside light off, snuggling down against Derek's side.

Stiles doesn't sleep, some ways Stiles is like him, he likes to just bask in the intimacy of just sharing space with another being, the comfort of knowing the person beside you means as much to you as you do to them.

Stiles nudges his head under Derek's arm, wriggles, adjusts and slowly moves them until Derek is curled around him. Stiles rests his head on Derek's arm and Derek holds his book in front of Stiles's face, still reading. Stiles seems content to lay there, dozing in Derek's arms as he carries on, the slow turn of pages as the mystery unfolds, one clue at a time.

*

Derek's never said it outright, never even thought about giving it a label until Stiles did. Derek _can_ , he just doesn't want to, doesn't see the point, the _need_.

To Derek relationships were finding someone and fucking them. Find someone you like: have sex. He hadn't known there were other ways to be. Derek knew he wanted Stiles, wanted to listen to him talk about his day, be the person Stiles thought of first. He wanted Stiles all to himself, to be the special person in Stiles' life, not anyone else, and he did the same.

*

He feels the restlessness before he smells it: the musky scent of _Stiles_. He hears the rustle of fabric as Stiles slides a hand down to wrap around his cock.

Derek loves that Stiles still shares this with him, loves that this can still be between them even if Derek doesn't join in. Derek bookmarks his page, sets it aside.

"No, no," Stiles says, a little breathless already. "Keep reading, I didn't mean for you to stop."

"You're far more interesting than a book," Derek replies slipping his arms around Stiles and pulling him back against him.

He can hear the way Stiles's pulse speeds up, the way his dick jerks in his hand.

"Yeah..." Stiles sighs, grabbing his free hand, their fingers entwined over Stiles's heart.

*

They used to fuck. Derek would pin Stiles down, try and be everything he thought he wanted. Stiles, eighteen and eager would eat it all up, push them to try _everything_ , and it was... ok. That Stiles wanted to share all of those moments with Derek made him feel special, privileged. He cared more about what Stiles's pleasure than his own, loved watching him come undone. Getting off himself was always an afterthought, just something that happened.

*

"Derek..." he moans.

"I'm here," he answers, face buried in the crook of Stiles's neck. He smells like home.

*

"We should talk," Stiles had said making Derek worry. He'd thought, this is it, he's finally realised he can do better.

It must have shown on his face because Stiles smiled.

"Don't worry, it's not a bad thing. It's just... we don't have to have sex, you know that right?" Stiles was watching him.

"You're... you're breaking up with me?"

"No, you idiot." Stiles rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying... sex isn't why I'm with you, ok? Fucking's awesome, but, I like it when we just hang out too, when we fall asleep on the sofa, when we play Mario Kart and I beat your ass. I like all the things with you, I like _you_."

*

Stiles is craning his head around for a kiss and Derek doesn't disappoint him. He can hear the thwacking of the sheets as Stiles works himself harder, the way he bites his lip tight beneath his teeth. He looks beautiful, open and raw, all for Derek to see.

"Love you, Stiles," Derek murmurs. "So fucking much."

He feel Stiles come, smell the heavy scent of it ruining another pair of boxers.

"Love you too," Stiles slurs.

Derek passes Stiles the tissues, because he knows no amount of badgering will get Stiles to leave bed after an orgasm so close to their bedtime. And he wouldn't want it. He drops the used tissues in the waste-paper basket, turns off his own bedside lamp.

He snuggles down against a mostly asleep Stiles, happy and sated.

Sex isn't a bond that ties them together, not anymore. But they are bound together, by so, so much more than sex.

* * *

43.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles, Epic Bromancey Bond - Scott & Stiles**

**Warning: None**

Derek loves Stiles. 

It sounds like a simple thing. It _is_ a bite of a sentence. But it’s taken five years for Derek to come to terms with it. Even now, there are times when it hangs odd on his shoulders like a jacket put on inside out, and everything in him screams _flee_. But he loves Stiles.

He _does not_ love the idiot that comes with him. He _despises_ hearing McCall shout through their bedroom door while Derek’s going down on an arching, writhing, _whimpering_ Stiles: “Tell Derek to hurry up with blowing you. Call of Duty, bro! Our troops are dying in the trenches!” He _loathes_ throwing an arm around Stiles and hitting a snoring, snuffling McCall on the other side.

He _hates_ sharing the man he’s finally admitted he wants all to himself.

* * *

He’ll be fine. The nurse says it again. Probably because Derek is still staring into Stiles’s battered face like he expects the life will bleed away if he doesn’t. He sits at Stiles’s bedside, awareness shot. McCall drops into the seat next to him, says, “I don’t like you.”

Derek huffs out a breathless laugh.

“You don’t like me either.” Derek wouldn’t disagree even if he could form words right now. “Derek. I don’t like you _because_ you’re perfect for him. We’ve— _I’ve_ fucked up _a lot_ with Stiles but he still loves me. For reasons I’ll probably never understand but that I’m eternally grateful for.” And McCall sounds older than Derek’s ever thought of him. “This, _you_ —” He gestures between himself and Stiles, “ _We_ could drift again. It happened with Allison and I didn’t even notice. Not until I looked at my best friend one day and I realized I had no idea what was going on in his head.”

McCall’s eyes are wet. “I _always_ know what’s going on in his head. Not thought for thought because _Stiles_ ,” he says with a weak laugh, “but I know when he’s thinking about some obscure comic book quote. Or his mom and needs to be distracted.” McCall kicks out with his foot. “The reason I’m around all the time isn’t to fuck with you. It’s because I’m terrified of losing him again. I’m terrified of _not_ knowing him because he’s the best person in the world to know.”

Derek thinks he and McCall might have done what Stiles has been after them to do for ages. Because that’s a fear Derek knows all too well, a fear that’s taken root in his core, a fear that wakes him from dead sleep. He and McCall have finally found common ground. Over the only thing they have in common.

Neither one of them looks away from Stiles again.

* * *

Derek takes Stiles home, fucks him open, slow and deep and intimate. He doesn’t say he loves Stiles because Kate has taken more from him than he’ll ever admit, but he shows him. As much as he’s able, he shows him.

Derek turns his back when they’re done. Angry at Stiles for getting hurt, for reminding him how breakable he is, for being reckless because he could so easily be _gone_ and Derek wouldn’t – _can’t_ – survive that loss.

Stiles props his chin up on Derek’s shoulder. “I know this has been hard for you.” Derek doesn't say anything, hardly daring to breathe. “I know, for a long time, even after we got together, you didn’t come first.” This is about McCall. And Derek’s always known that but it’s something else to hear it said out loud. “Derek,” Stiles says softly. “That was past tense, in case you missed it.”

Derek can feel the smile against his shoulder. “It takes a lot to kick the guy who gave me his _last_ Inspector Gadget Band-Aid out of top spot.” Derek stares up at him, wary and all too hopeful. “But you’re my family, as much as Scott is. _More_.”

Derek swallows, tries to speak around the lump in his throat. “Me—me too.”

Stiles’s smile tips up into a smirk. “Of course I am. You may be emotionally barren but no one can resist the Stilinski charm.”

Derek laughs and it really isn’t funny but Stiles can make all the shit things okay. It’s an ability only he has and Derek isn’t sure where he’d be without it. “McCall’s not so bad.” Stiles looks guarded. “Scott,” Derek says. “Scott isn’t so bad.”

The beaming smile Stiles gives him in return is worth whatever might follow.

* * *

44.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

Warning: None ****

When the bond breaks it feels like someone digs their clawed hand into Stiles’s stomach and pulls until he's hollowed out. It hurts like nothing's ever hurt before, and Stiles knows hurt. He gasps for breath, clutching at his stomach as he sinks to his knees in the mud. He shakes with the effort of holding back a scream, digging one hand into the soil as he splays the other one over the spot where he feels the bond snapping like a rubber band.

"Fix it!" he yells, hand twisting in his shirt. "Scott. _Fix it._ "

Scott pulls him up, his face pale and terrified. "Come on,” he says, urgent. “We'll figure it out."

**

“Hey there, Schumacher, keep the foot away from the gas,” Stiles says as the sharp turn presses him up against the door of the Jeep. Derek gives him a look out of the corner of his eyes.

“She’s not a racing car, okay? I didn’t train her for this.” Stiles glares at Derek, whose jaw is so tense Stiles thinks it might snap in half. “Dude, stop treating me like I did anything wrong. That banshee was going to kill you, and also the pack, and Beacon Hills, and most importantly: me.” Stiles waves his arms for emphasis.

His shirt is splattered with Banshee blood and he doesn’t know if calling attention to it makes it better or worse.

“Your soul is literally stuck to mine, Stiles. If you endanger yours, you endanger mine.”

“So, that’s what this whole tantrum is about,” Stiles says, fingers tightening around the handle on the door. “Just you worrying about how _your_ soul is going to survive the constant supernatural onslaught happening right now.”

Derek sighs, his mouth downturned. “Did you miss the part where my soul is attached to yours? So, no, I’m not just worrying about _my_ soul.”

Stiles goes quiet for a moment, staring out the window. “Is this your way of saying you care?”

“I ripped the heart out of a banshee with my bare hands, Stiles. Also we’ve been fucking for months. What do you think?”

Leave it to Derek to sound so pissed off about having a soulmate.

The Jeep skids around the curve. Stiles swears. “Derek, fuck, this isn’t Mario Kart.”

“Oh damn, what will I do with all my shells.”

“I hate you.”

**

It’s not like he’d fucked Derek pre-bond, so he has no real way to compare. But he’s done things with other people, and while being blown in the bathroom at Lydia’s party was pretty fucking awesome, it wasn’t... _this_.

He can feel their bond spreading out under his skin, buzzing with life and curling in contentment over the fact that they’ve finally stopped resisting. Derek’s hand on his waist feels too hot, like it’s branding him, fitting itself to his waist as if it belongs there.

“Derek.” Stiles’s voice breaks as the thick length of Derek’s cock sinks in, taking him apart until he’s nothing but a heap of exposed nerves.

Derek pushes him down onto the bed with a hand on his back, holding him steady as he pulls back out, the drag of his cock making Stiles press his face into the covers to muffle his sounds.

“I know,” Derek says.

Derek’s hand shakes just before he loses control and fucks Stiles into the bed so hard that Stiles thinks it’s going to break for a moment. And then he’s not thinking anymore, just writhing under the hand pinning him down as the bond fills his body with something that feels like Derek – like Derek is in him and on him and everywhere.

**

“No, it’s not fucking okay,” Stiles says, throwing the book across the room.

It knocks his lamp off the nightstand to fall at Derek’s feet, but Derek doesn’t even flinch.

“I’m stuck to you for _life_.” Stiles knows his heart is beating too fast; his scent must be sour with panic. “I only have one of those! And I can’t have a wife. Or kids. Or a normal fucking existence without knowing my _soul_ is forever glued to yours.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s shoulders are slumped, but he’s calm.

“You don’t even know me, not really. And making out because we were high on adrenaline doesn’t count!”

“ _Stiles._ ”

“You don’t even like me.”

The bond buzzes to life when Derek’s hand squeezes his shoulder, the touch a strange and unfamiliar. “We’ll figure it out.”

* * *

45.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warnings: Possibly dub-connish abuse of a mating bond.**

It started as a warmth pooling low in Derek’s stomach, so subtle, at first, that he didn’t notice until the Nissan idling behind his Camaro honked, and Derek realized he’d been standing beside the gas pump for fifteen minutes, hand curled around the nozzle, while his mind lingered on Stiles’s long hands, the soft, fuzzy happy trail leading down his soft stomach and into the waistband of his boxers.

Shaking himself, Derek unscrewed the Camaro’s gas cap. He hit the premium button, lifted the nozzle, and spasmed, as the mating bond linking him to Stiles blew wide open. Long, calloused fingers wrapped around his cock – no, not his, no foreskin, this was all Stiles, the damp, ruddy head peeking out from the circle of his fingers, jeans and boxers shoved low on his thighs.

 _Derek,_ Stiles groaned inside his mind, arcing his back against the cold, porclain – toilet, Derek realized, Stiles was actually jacking off in the boys’ bathroom. The nozzle clattered to the ground.

 _You little shit,_ Derek thought, steadying himself against the car while the Nissan’s horn blared. Derek lifted his head, and the Nissan’s driver quailed at his expression. The mating bond bubbled with mirth that grew sweeter, thicker as Derek focused on it. On one level, he was braced against the Camaro’s trunk, erection straining against his jeans, and on another, he stroked himself frantically in the men’s room, calling up memories of his cock sliding down Stiles’s throat, of Stiles’s tight heat around his fingers, the sharp, sweet pain of Derek’s knot as it swelled inside him.

Involuntarily, Derek’s hands curled into fists, lengthening nails biting into his palms. _I’m going to kill you,_ he thought, and Stiles laughed, gasped as he spilled hot and wet over his fingers.

 _Looking forward to it,_ Stiles sent back, blithely, fondly, like Derek’s anger was adorable, like he was a fucking puppy, not an Alpha werewolf. The bond faded to a quiet hum in the back of his mind, and Derek snapped back into his own body, painfully hard, ears and neck hot.

* * *

Derek’s Henley fell to Stiles’s carpet. A second later, his jeans followed, then his briefs. The bond vibrated faintly, a sign that, unconsciously, Stiles’s mind had cued into what was going on. Still, if Derek traced the link between them, he could find most of Stiles’s attention focused on the textbook in front of him, the highlighter cap between his teeth.

When Derek caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on Stiles’s bedroom door, his eyes gleamed red, predatory. He settled himself on Stiles’s bed. The crumpled sheets still smelled like sex from this morning, and Derek luxuriated in the scent, stretching out to let it sink into his skin. He drifted a hand down his stomach, and the bond between them sputtered to life, Stiles’s mental voice foggy and confused.

_Derek?_

_Hmm?_ Derek rolled onto his side, opening the nightstand drawer. He pulled out the bottle of lube, and Stiles’s breath caught hard enough that Derek felt it in his own throat.

Once or twice, Stiles’s fingers had brushed, teasingly, over the crack, before Derek growled and caught his wrists. Truthfully, Derek didn’t know why he’d resisted it so long, except it felt too much like losing control, and he had so little left when it came to Stiles. But when Derek flattened his feet on the mattress and pressed a finger inside, it felt like nothing but control. The highlighter cap dropped from Stiles’s slackening mouth. Derek squirmed, pressing deeper, focusing on the lust flickering through the bond. Shamelessly, he imagined these were Stiles’s long, wicked fingers, working him open. His thighs spread wider and Derek groaned, rocking back against his own hand.

 _What the fuck?_ Stiles thought, all panic and desperation.

 _Want you_ Derek sent back. _Want your fingers. Your cock. Oh Stiles, fuck!_ He worked another finger inside, gritting his teeth when Stiles’s pulse jumped.

By the time door slammed open, Derek was up to four fingers, his brow beading with sweat. Stiles stumbled inside, all glazed eyes and tented jeans.

“You . . . school,” Derek managed, fingers still knuckle deep in himself.

“I walked out of physics,” Stiles gasped. “Harris gave me detention for a month. Fuck, come here!”

Derek lost it when Stiles grasped the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Or maybe he won. Derek didn’t know anymore. But either way, he was definitely playing for keeps.

* * *

46.

**Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning:knotting**

Stiles loves his and Derek's house. They're in the middle of nowhere, the preserve stretching around them for miles and miles.

It's perfect for a little fun between an Alpha and his mate.

*

Stiles is riding Derek on their bed, slow and aching, clenching his ass around Derek's hard dick. He doesn't want Derek to come yet; he's got plans for the both of them.

"God, Stiles," Derek groans. He bucks his hips, trying to fuck Stiles harder.

"No," Stiles says, lifting up so that only the head is inside of him. Derek makes a frustrated noise, hands flexing on Stiles' thighs, but he settles down and stays still. "Good."

Derek briefly bares his teeth, but Stiles just chuckles and leans forward. He kisses Derek deep and lazy, pulling back to smile wickedly at him.

"Let's play a game."

Derek gives him a suspicious look. "What kind of game?"

Stiles hums but doesn't answer, pulling the rest of the way off, feeling lube slide out of his stretched hole. He gives Derek one more kiss before climbing from the bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and shoving his feet in a pair of shoes.

"What are you –"

Stiles leans over him and sucks a bite right under Derek's jaw, making him groan. It disappears almost as soon as Stiles pulls back. He presses his lips against Derek's ear and whispers:

"Catch me if you can."

*

He runs fast but Derek isn't far behind, even without using his werewolf speed. Stiles pauses every now and then to rub against a tree or to roll in the dirt; it isn't something Derek needs to chase him, but it's fun to leave teasing hints.

Eventually Stiles circles back towards the house. He can hear Derek behind him, gaining ground, and Stiles speeds up as much as he can. He clears the last of the trees and takes off across the backyard, and he's halfway to the open back door when Derek bursts into the clearing.

Stiles can't stop the wild laugh that escapes, loud and echoing in the night air. He glances over his shoulder as he makes his last sprint, catching sight of red eyes and a glint of fang. This is going to be _so good_.

He's barely made it past the porch when Derek tackles him from behind. They twist in the air, Derek sliding on his back across the kitchen floor when they land, his arms wrapped tightly around Stiles' middle. As soon as they stop Derek is rolling them over, pressing Stiles into the floor face first.

"Oh god," Stiles says, moaning as Derek yanks his sweatpants down to his ankles and spreads his ass cheeks wide. He's pretty sure he feels claws scratching lightly at his skin, and he whimpers in anticipation. "Best idea _ever_."

Derek growls his agreement and presses the head of his dick against Stiles' ready hole. It's all the warning Stiles gets, Derek slamming his hips forward and pushing all the way in, balls deep. Stiles shouts, fingers scrabbling at tile, his eyes rolling back in his head. Derek grips his hips and pulls him up so that his ass is high, his face still pressed against the floor. He leaves one hand curled tightly around Stiles' hip, and the other tangles in Stiles' hair, holding him in place as he starts fucking into him relentlessly. It's _glorious_.

Stiles doesn't register Derek's knot at first, too lost in his own pleasure, but when it gets big enough to start tugging on his rim he realizes what's happening. "Oh my god yes," he says, trying to spread his knees as far as the sweatpants still tangled around his ankles will let him.

Derek groans and pushes in deep, fingers tightening in Stiles' hair and on his hip as his knot begins to grow to its full size. It stretches Stiles to the point where the pain and pleasure are so mixed together he can't tell one from the other.

Derek makes whining noises behind him, and Stiles can feel him pulsing, filling him with hot come. It's too much, and Stiles shudders, clenching down painfully as he comes, Derek's knot locked tightly inside of him.

After a long moment, Derek shifts carefully to tangle their fingers together, mouthing kisses against the back of Stiles' neck.

"So that was fun," Stiles says, breathless.

"Yeah," Derek agrees, smiling against Stiles' shoulder. "Yeah, it was."

* * *

47.

**Pairings: Derek/Kate**

**Warning: none**

Derek’s eyes open slowly, blinking at the bright lights, the harsh white of a hospital room.

A woman’s voice breaks through the beeping and the hum of the machines he’s hooked up to. It’s familiar.

“Oh, Derek.” A mess of dark blond hair covers his chest and he’s being hugged. “Thank God!”

“Mrs. Hale!” A nurse pulls the woman off him. “Mrs. Hale, I’m sorry, but you are going to need to let us examine him.”

Chris Argent is pulling Kate away. Her eyes are red, wet with tears as she looks back at Derek. The shock makes his heart race and has the nurse clearing the room and calling for a doctor.

*

Derek stares at the door, trembling at the thought Kate could walk through it again. Everyone seems just as confused as he is. The nurses give him pitying looks that make him want to scream.

They try to explain to him that he’s been in a coma. That his memories aren’t real. They have to tie his arms and legs for his own protection and theirs. He isn’t strong enough to break them, even though they are just leather. He’s human; it takes him three days to accept that.

But Derek refuses to believe that anyone named Kate Hale could exist. He wants to rip the gold band from his finger but it’s been on too long, fits too snugly.

*

“I promise we’ll start slow.” Kate’s tone is so sincere, he wishes he still had the ability to hear her heartbeat to know if she’s lying.

He’s lost that too, along with his sanity.

She steps towards the bed. “Please, just listen to what I have to say.” She looks at him like she had that first day with soft eyes and a sassy smile. It makes his chest ache and his stomach roll.

She starts talking. He stares up at the ceiling, telling himself it’s all lies.

*

One day she takes his hand and he doesn’t flinch.

He begins to forget the smell of Peter’s burnt skin, Laura’s open-eyed stare as he buried her. He starts to doubt.

*

She’s patient, impossibly patient with him. Kate Hale is nothing like Kate Argent, even if they share a face, a voice, a laugh.

It makes it both harder and easier to believe that the world of werewolves and arson was all a horror film playing out in his brain -- just names and faces of people he barely knew. The doctors suggest that his insecurities created that life: extreme self-doubt fabricating an entire world around his fear of failure.

*

Derek bumps into the Sheriff as he’s being discharged.

His name is John. It’s odd that he never knew that in his dreamworld. It’s a random detail, but it makes the world he’s in now feel more real for some reason.

*

Kate takes him back to a house, shows him their wedding photos and cooks him dinner.

Then she takes him to the bedroom they’ve apparently shared for five years.

She strips him down, humming in delight at his body. And this part is familiar. Her touch feels so right, it’s easy to not fight it. He once thought she loved him and maybe he hadn’t been wrong?

She licks his chest and Derek’s stomach clenches.

Looking up at him, she grins. “Do you remember this, baby?”

He does, but it didn’t quite go like this. He says nothing; it’s enough for her. She slides up his body and kisses him, sinking down on his cock so quickly they both cry out.

She rides him hard. She’s a master at this, knows just how to tilt her hips. Her legs are strong enough to keep a frantic pace. He remembers this, only this time the scratches she leaves on his chest don’t heal instantly.

“I missed you,” she says, once they’re spent and sweaty.

“I missed you, too.” He’s ashamed that he’s not even lying.

*

He looks out the window as they drive through the preserve; the leaves on the trees blur.

Kate thinks he’s ready. He’s not sure, the false memories are still vivid every time he closes his eyes. He still wonders sometimes if this version is the dream. His wedding band itches.

But as the house comes into view, tall and beautiful and whole, as he sees his mother kneeling by the rose bush, his father working on his old trunk, as he hears Laura call out, “They’re here!” he swears to himself he never wants to wake up.

* * *

48.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning: None**

Stiles had borrowed the handcuffs from his dad shortly after Scott had been bitten, back when he'd been a danger to himself and others every time the moon grew full. Then there'd been Peter and Kate and the kanima and Gerard and Stiles had had just a few things on his mind.

It wasn't theft if you forgot to return them. That was just absentmindedness.

The point is, the handcuffs had slipped his mind, right until he burst into his room after practice to find Derek holding them between two fingers and looking at Stiles like he was judging him.

"Um." Stiles dropped his bag to the floor and gulped. "What are those for?"

Derek raised one unimpressed eyebrow. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

"I--" He saw the drawer open behind Derek, the one that was all socks and underwear on top but his carefully-camouflaged porn stash underneath. Memory came back in a rush. He'd hidden the handcuffs there hoping that, if his dad did find them, he'd be too mortified by the gay porn and the KY to give Stiles grief. But time had passed and they'd fallen down underneath everything else and Stiles had forgotten. "Why were you snooping in my porn?"

"I wanted to surprise you," Derek said, grumpy, like it was Stiles's fault for ruining it.

"Well, color me surprised." Stiles reached, but Derek lifted the cuffs out of reach. "Can you just--"

"Is this your way of telling me you want to be tied down during sex?"

Stiles practically swallowed his tongue. " _What?_ No. You do that anyway with your wolfy superstrength, no props required. Will you _please_ give me those?"

Derek's frown turned thoughtful. "Is it your way of telling me that you want to tie _me_ down during sex?"

"Ha ha." Stiles glared. "Like you'd ever let me. You know, if Dad sees you holding those, he's going to _really_ get the wrong idea."

"I would," Derek said quietly. "If you wanted to."

"...What," Stiles said, a wheezing gasp. He stood there and gaped.

Derek glanced up at him then scowled. "Never mind," he said, too fast, and tossed the handcuffs to Stiles. They hit him in the chest and dropped down to his feet. "You don't want to. It's fine."

"Just hold on a minute." Stiles picked them up, then caught Derek's wrist as he turned to flee. Derek's gaze flashed to Stiles's fingers circling his wrist, then to the cuffs in his other hand. His eyes went dark. "You want me to tie you down and fuck you?"

Derek's brows lowered. "No," he growled. Then, reluctantly, "I don't want you to fuck me."

A slow grin spread across Stiles's face. "You want me to tie you down and ride you?"

Stiles didn't need a wolf's hearing to catch the way Derek's heart raced. He could feel it in the thrumming of his pulse under Stiles's fingers.

"Holy crap, _yes_." Stiles released his wrist and pushed him toward the bed. "Dude. All you had to do was ask."

While Derek climbed up onto the bed, Stiles detoured to grab the lube, then climbed onto the bed and straddled Derek's legs. He pushed Derek onto his back and laughed with delight when Derek let him.

His laughter died beneath arousal when Derek let him cuff him to the headboard, too. He shed his own clothes in a rush, then stripped Derek's pants and boxers off of him and straddled him once more. Derek's breath was already coming fast and shallow, his eyes black with hunger.

Stiles had to prepare himself, with Derek's hands out of commission. But that wasn't exactly a hardship, and it was more than worth it for the way Derek watched him, like as soon as he got free he was going to get Stiles back for the tease.

Stiles shuddered as he eased himself onto Derek's cock. Derek shivered, too, his fingers curling against his palms overhead. His eyes glinted gold an instant before he shut them. "God," Stiles gasped, and let his own weight push him down further. "I love you."

Derek's eyes opened and fixed straight on him. "I trust you," he said, completely relaxed beneath Stiles's weight, and from him, that meant pretty much the same thing.

* * *

49.

**Pairings: Chris/Peter**

**Warning: n/a**

The thing is...no one talks about it.

Everyone knows. How could they not, with their enhanced senses? Even the humans are more than aware of what’s going on. But they don’t discuss it.

It’s never been an issue. Until it suddenly is.

“What’s he doing here?” Derek asks, blocking the entrance to his place and shooting them both a suspicious glare.

Peter tries not to roll his eyes. “It’s pack bonding night. We’re here to bond.”

“Yeah. Pack bonding. For the _pack._ Last I checked, Chris Argent wasn’t pack.”

“You know it’s rude to talk about people in front of them,” Peter says, casting a sidelong glance at Chris.

“And you know it’s rude to bring non-pack members to pack bonding night,” Derek counters.

Peter laughs, cold and brittle. He should’ve known to expect this. But he’s not taking this bullshit tonight, least of all from his nephew.

“Fine, then count us both out,” he says, calm. This isn’t over.

\--

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“Under no circumstances will Chris Argent ever become a member of this pack.”

“All right, fine. Maybe you did know. Kudos to you.” Peter spreads his hands out graciously. Derek glares.

“We don’t need someone like him. No one trusts him. There’s nothing he can offer us other than being your fuck buddy.” He spits the words, like it’s disgusting to him. Maybe it is. Not the fucking, because Derek loves to take it up the ass (Peter knows this for a fact), but perhaps the partner.

Peter smirks. “Still got a thing against the Argents, I see, even after all this time.”

It’s low. But no one’s ever accused him of being compassionate.

Surprisingly, Derek doesn’t rise to the bait. He folds his arms across his chest, shooting Peter a hard look instead. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

“It’ll never happen.”

“No?” He’s met with nothing but a steadfast silence. “Suit yourself, then.”

With a shrug, Peter turns, walking back down the porch steps. If it sounds like a threat, that’s because it is.

\--

“Is this really necessary?” Chris asks, but he’s breathless, writhing under Peter’s touch, so the complaint doesn’t feel entirely convincing.

“It is if we’re ever going to get through to my stubborn nephew.” He thrusts again, harder this time, nails digging into his hips as he feels Chris clench around his cock.

Chris pushes back against him with a moan, hands pressing against the wall. “And just how is fucking in his place not going to wind up in both our deaths?”

“Please,” Peter scoffs. “You’re a hunter, I’m the big bad wolf. He wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Except he would, and they both know it.

“Jesus Christ, would you fucking touch me already?” Chris growls, impatient, and fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing Peter’s ever heard.

He hums against Chris’ shoulder, raking very human teeth across pale skin, marveling at the scent of Chris’ attraction, his arousal, the way he shudders under Peter’s touch like he both loves and hates it. It makes him wonder, not for the first time, what it’d feel like to sink his teeth in and claim Chris like he wants to.

“Don’t be impatient, darling,” he coos, because the term of endearment pisses Chris off, but his anger drives Peter _wild_.

“Fuck you.”

Peter smirks. “Mmm, next time, love.” And then his fingers wrap around Chris’ dick, stroking him hard and firm as he drives into Chris with barely contained control. After that, it only takes a few minutes before they’re both coming, sated and satisfied.

\--

It takes Derek nearly twenty-four hours to show up at Peter’s apartment. He’s surprised Derek lasted that long.

“Is this what I have to look forward to?”

Peter shrugs. “Until you get the message.”

Derek’s mouth opens and closes several times, like he doesn’t know what to say. Eventually, he heaves a sigh, and even before he speaks, Peter can tell that they’ve won. “You’re cleaning every single inch of that place. I don’t want to be able to smell _anything_.”

“Not even Stiles’--”

“Every. Inch.”

Peter waves a hand. “Sure, fine. Whatever you want.”

“And don’t ever set foot in my home again uninvited.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air between them before Derek finally huffs, walking away without a second glance.

Peter smirks, crooked and a little devious, the thrill of victory thrumming through his veins.

* * *

50.

**Pairings: Laura/Lydia/Stiles/Derek**

**Warning: Halecest, minor blood play**

The only thing better than fucking Lydia is watching Lydia ride Derek. They’re both gorgeous - Derek’s strong physique stretched out naked and glistening with sweat, dark body hair against his tanned skin. Lydia is creamy white next to him, flushed at her clavicle and her cheeks. Her face is a mask of pleasure and concentration as she swivels and torques her hips just the way she knows Derek likes.

Stiles’ dick presses into Laura from behind and she groans in pleasure. It’s her favorite position, one that Stiles loves to tease her about and she doesn’t fucking care, especially when Stiles is the one fucking her. He can tease her about it all day, every day as long as he promises to never stop.

Derek’s hands are tight on Lydia’s hips, pressing bruises into the milky flesh and Laura has to reach over and pull one of her brother’s hands off Lydia, so she can hold onto it. This is her family, this is her pack, and though Laura is Alpha, they are all equals.

Laura loves them all; she’s in love with them all. She loves Derek, has always loved the leashed, controlled strength of him - his loyalty and fierceness. She loves Lydia - her sharp mind, her cunning, her ingenuity. She loves Stiles - his creativity, his enthusiasm and the only brain she knows to rival Lydia’s.

Their little Hale pack started from only Laura and Derek - two survivors. As children they’d always been a little too close and in their grief for their family, they crossed the last boundary that lay between them. With Derek, surrounded by his scent, she feels love and safe and home and pack.

Then Derek met Stiles, Laura met Lydia and somehow their pack of two became four.

Tonight, on the Blue Moon, they’re growing their little pack of four, on their way to making it a pack of six.

She can hear Stiles chanting behind her as he thrusts his hips, pushing into her. She can hear Lydia echoing his magic and the spell wraps around them - around Derek and Lydia, and then around Laura and Stiles, and then the four of them together - binding them as a pack, as a family, as mates - a holy quadrangle of humans and wolves - each of them magical in their own way.

God, Laura wants this. She wills her body to be open, wills Stiles to fuck her harder, wills Lydia to rock deeper against Derek, wills Derek to thrust up into Lydia.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that Stiles and Lydia have threaded the fingers of one of their hands each together - their fingers entwined. Laura tongues over two of Derek’s fingers, sucking them deep into her mouth, swirling her tongue around. She looks up and catches him staring at her - his eyes flashing blue and gold. She fingers herself with her other hand, bracing herself on her forarm so she can continue sucking at Derek’s fingers while she gets herself off with her other hand. Stiles is moaning from behind her - her name, Derek’s name, Lydia’s name. She can feel the knot their magic is forcing his human body to form, she knows that Lydia is already feeling Derek’s knot. They’ll be locked together with knots and the spell for at least half an hour, maybe longer.

And they’ll be a _family_ again, a real family - Derek, Laura, Stiles, Lydia and two brand new wolves to be welcomed into their pack. Wolves with Lydia and Stiles’ eyes and magic; with Derek and Laura’s dark hair and sharp teeth. No one will ever be able to break apart their family again, not with this kind of magic holding it together.

Stiles’ knot feels strange and new inside her and his hips hitch and jerk against her and at the first pulse of him inside her, she’s coming hard, biting down on Derek’s fingers and tasting a little blood. Derek surges up into Lydia and Lydia cries out and the magic is hot and bright and nearly painful and it feels _so good_ and they’ll never be lonely and scared again.

They’re bound together forever.

* * *

51.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

**Warning: none**

Stiles is not a virgin anymore. The crazy amounts of sex he and Derek have is proof of that. But, well, he is still kind of inexperienced.

 _Derek_ is like the opposite of inexperienced. He's actually probably some sort of sex _guru_ ok, which, Stiles? He's not complaining.

It's just that sometimes he feels kind of inadequate. Derek can come up with these crazy sexy ideas, literally every fucking time, and it's always AWEsome. 10/10 times Stiles ends up a shuddering mess, splayed out on the bed, and feeling like the world could end around them and he wouldn't give a shit.

Stiles just wishes he could do that to Derek sometimes too.

Which is why he thinks he can actually feel the cartoon light bulb flash above his head, when he notices them.

The metal of the handcuffs glints tauntingly at him in the light of the kitchen. He has a brief insight that his dad must have forgotten them on his way out the door.

If he were a _good_ son, the kind of son he'd been two years ago, he'd be hopping in his jeep and heading toward the police station already.

Stiles is not that person anymore. He grabs the handcuffs before he can think about it, and goes up to his room.

~~~~~

The only thing Stiles is wearing when Derek inevitably crawls through his window, is his dad's old police hat. He's got the handcuffs dangling from one finger, and his hips are jutted out in a way that he hopes looks both authoritative and sexy.

Derek stops, half way inside. His mouth drops open in surprise, before a wicked grin splits his features.

"Damn. You caught me.”

"Breaking and entering _is_ a serious offense," Stiles deadpans.

“I surrender.” Derek holds out his arms. He bites at his lower lip to keep his mouth from twitching into a smile, as Stiles awkwardly manipulates the metal onto his wrists.

Their eyes catch, serious for a second, as the lock clicks into place. Derek gives Stiles a sharp nod, marking his acceptance of what they're doing, and Stiles grins.

"Now," Stiles pauses for a moment, and then he feels his smile turn evil. "Before you can be properly booked, I'm afraid I'm going to need to perform a strip search. You know, to make sure you don't have anything potentially dangerous on your person."

Derek gives a small bark of laughter, and his eyes flash red for a second. He just stands there though, limbs loose, and a challenge in his eyes that means Stiles is going to have to work for this.

Game. On.

Stiles eyes Derek's T-shirt first, frowning when he realizes there's no way to get it off without undoing the handcuffs. There's a pair of scissors sitting innocently on the corner of his desk though. Problem solved. And really, only fair considering how many clothes of his have been destroyed in direct proximity to Derek's...well, Derek's _everything_.

Derek raises an eyebrow, but doesn't complain.

The pants are next, and a bit easier, despite the fact that Derek is _zero_ help. And then they're both naked, Derek's wrists handcuffed in front of him, and fuck, but that just somehow makes him look even sexier. He's not cowed or vulnerable in the least.

Stiles feels his mouth go dry with anticipation.

~~~~~~

Derek is a panting, writhing mess. He's braced on his forearms, hands still bound together. His ass is raised in the air, and his hole is inflamed hot and gaping wide.

"I uh..." Derek pants into his arms, "don't think I'm hiding anything in there."

"Hmm," Stiles says. He absently adjusts the sheriff's hat out of his eyes, before sliding two of his fingers knuckle deep back into Derek. "These are dangerous times. One can never be too sure. Or too...” Stiles taps at Derek’s prostate, “Thorough."

Derek grunts and arches his back further, so that his hips tilt even more obscenely in the air.

"Stiles. Get on with it!" Derek grunts, finally breaking character.

Stiles laughs, and swats at the pink skin of Derek's ass.

~~~~~

Stiles collapses against Derek's back. They're both sweaty and bonelessly exhausted.

"Mmm. That was good right?" Stiles asks, suddenly self conscious.

Derek hums, and flops back to the bed, still panting shallowly. "Good," he agrees, and then he holds out his wrists.

Stiles stares at Derek's extended arms for a minute, a sudden cold thrill making his blood run icy. "Umm..."

"Oh my god. _Stiles_. You DO have the key, right?!"

* * *

52.

**Pairing: Derek/Stiles, Scott+Stiles**

Stiles is normally a pro at choosing sides. He's been picking which team he stands on for years: Scott vs. Jackson, Scott vs. Peter, Scott vs. Mr Argent, Scott vs. anyone who remotely threatens him. Even, there came a time, Scott vs. Lydia, and he still chose his best friend, because that's what bros are for.

Until Derek.

" _Fuck,_ Stiles," Derek growls, gripping Stiles' thighs so hard there'll be obvious claw marks for days, raw and red and leaving dark bruises like a brand. Stiles swallows a moan as he rolls his hips, shoving back hard onto Derek's dick, taking him in again and again with insatiable want.

"That's it." Derek's muttering into Stiles' neck, teeth scraping his pulse point and forcing Stiles' eyes to flicker shut with pleasure. "That's it, babe, take it, Jesus _Christ._ " He's entirely still, letting Stiles do all the work as he bounces on Derek's hips.

Stiles smashes their lips together in a dirty, wet kiss, tongue fighting Derek's for a battle of dominance they already know the outcome to. When he draws back, Stiles watches as Derek stares, enraptured, at Stiles fucking himself onto his cock as he leaks pre-come over Derek's stomach.

" _Stiles,_ " Derek whines, and he wants to thrust, he wants to fuck himself up and fill Stiles with his come until he's dripping wet, full to the brim and running down his thighs. "You're such a good boy, I love it when you ride me, _fuck_."

Words are falling out of Derek's mouth, dirty and strained with desire and never-ending, matching Stiles' usual character. Stiles loves taking Derek apart like this, loves being the one who endures this pleasure in relative silence for once, who is absolutely one hundred per cent in control.

More than anything, Stiles likes being fucked by Derek, his huge, thick cock filling his arse and dragging him in the throes of thrashing towards the greatest pleasure he's ever known.

"Down," Stiles pants, and accompanies the one word with a shove of Derek's shoulders, back hitting the sofa. Derek lets Stiles hover over him, and with a perfect screw of his hips downwards, Stiles quickens his pace, determined to ride Derek to the finish.

"Fuck, Stiles, _fuck_!" Derek tries to bite the back of his hand as he crests, come spurting inside of Stiles, but Stiles holds Derek's arm down with an iron grip, watching pleasure overwhelm his face.

Derek is so beautiful, and he belongs to _Stiles_.

As Stiles pulls himself roughly to completion, Derek mouths at his collarbone with whispers of, "You're amazing, babe, _Stiles_ , fuck, I love you." Stiles shudders, feeling Derek's cock still sliding wetly inside of him, before coming over them both, his mouth stretched wide and silent.

As Derek plants soft kisses to the back of Stiles' ear, up his jaw, beside his eyes, Stiles knows, without a single werewolf sense to his availability, that he has broken that once titanium-hard shell that protected the most important friendship in his life. That Scott will be arriving any moment now, and he'll see Stiles, his best friend, sitting naked astride Derek, that he'll smell the betrayal in the air; and he'll know that for the first time ever, Stiles will not have put him first in his heart, that Stiles has chosen Derek's side, because Stiles is _in love, can't Scott understand that, the hypocrite, how can he make this decision so hard, it's not fair--_ ,

Stiles closes his eyes against Derek's kisses and waits for the familiar click of the front door.

* * *

53.

**Pairings: Derek/Stiles**

Warning: some blood, in a non-sexual, non-violent context

After years of doing this it’s still strange to be out here, naked, in the woods. There’s paint cooling on his skin. It’s still wet so he moves carefully so as not to smudge it, trying not to step on anything sharp. Limping would definitely put a dent in the proceedings. Derek’s ahead of him, stomping cheerfully through the underbrush, somehow comfortable in his skin now that that’s all he’s wearing.

There’s a place up ahead where this works. It’s just a small clearing but it has the right trees, rowan, oak, hazel, and pine.

Derek walks through the gap in the bushes that they’ve worn down over the years. He circles around the clearing, like a dog getting comfortable before going to sleep.

The paint on Derek’s skin is black. It swirls out from his tattoo, down to the backs of his knees and around to cover his chest. He looks like a warrior, so fierce and proud and happy to be here with Stiles.

Stiles steps forward to put both hands on Derek’s chest. There’s a pulse of magic and Stiles can feel his heartbeat adjusting to Derek’s. The forest is quiet around them, or maybe Stiles just isn’t listening anymore. He doesn’t have to; he can feel it, awareness stretching out like roots in all directions.

He leans up and kisses Derek softly. It’s not necessary, for this to work, but it’s nice anyway. Derek’s eyes are closed and he’s breathing deeply. Stiles doesn’t know if he feels the magic in the same way, but he obviously feels something. He can never really explain it afterwards.

Derek is already hard when Stiles reaches down. It’s nice, in a way, to just make Derek get off, without worrying about himself. He rarely gets to just watch Derek fall apart, quick and messy. Derek grabs his arms and curls into Stiles when he comes. Stiles keeps his hand cupped close and catches it all.

Derek straightens up, trembling a little, and steps back. The rest of it is up to Stiles.

He walks up to the oak.

“Hi again. You’re looking great, nice family of squirrels living upstairs, I see.” Derek snorts behind him but Derek isn’t in charge here. “Just wanted to say, thanks for a great year, hope yours wasn’t too bad. Here’s my offering.”

He dips two fingers in the sticky puddle on his hand and drags them in a line down the tree bark. One upright line, for strength, fertility.

The pine is next, then the hazel and the rowan.

Derek never likes the next part but there’s nothing they can about it. Derek carefully drags one claw across the center of Stiles’s palm, opening a little seam of blood. The blood gets painted on the trees as well, forming a cross. A horizontal line, for stability and sacrifice.

He makes one more circle of the clearing, picking a small twig from each tree. An offering in return for his own.

It looks a little silly, in the end, the two of them naked in the forest, covering the trees with come and blood. But it works. It works because he says it works, because he can feel the rightness of it coming together.

There aren’t so many strange things in the woods these days. The brokenness, the foulness that still lingers from the Hale fire is slowly healing. When the shape-shiftercame through town last spring they didn’t stay, the land didn’t welcome them.

He holds the twigs in one hand and reaches out for Derek’s hand with the other. When they get home he’ll tie the twigs together and hang the bundle over the front door.

It might be silly, but it works.


	4. Group D (With Warnings)

54.  
 **Pairings: Scott/Stiles  
Warning: Underage (show age), injuries**

* * *

55.  
 **Pairings: Derek/Stiles  
** Warning: None  
 **Bound To You**

* * *

56.  
 **Pairings: Derek/Stiles  
Warning: Light Bondage**

* * *

57.  
 **Pairings: Scott/Isaac  
Warning: **

* * *

58.  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles  
Warnings** : None

Derek really needs to work on his knotting skills. Not that Stiles is complaining…

* * *

59.  
 **Pairings:** Derek/Stiles  
 **Warning:** None  
 **Time For Bed**  
It was no secret that Stiles thought Derek was one sexy werewolf. But nothing turned Stiles on more than when his mate was holding their little werebaby.  
 _Time for bed, little one_ , thought Stiles. Because _boy_ did he have X-rated plans for Alpha Daddy tonight. 


	5. Group A (Without Warnings)

1.

_"Sorry, Scott, something came up, can I get a raincheck tonight?"_

Scott looked up at Allison’s window, standing in front of her house, phone pressed tightly to his face. "Everything okay?" He stretched his hearing to reach her, looking for any hint of danger.

Allison's heartbeat was a steady drum beneath her words. _"Yeah, it's fine, my parents just aren't going out so we wouldn't have the privacy we wanted."_ The driveway was empty and Allison's heart skipped a beat. _"We're good, right? Maybe we can do something tomorrow?"_

Scott kept listening for that skip, but none came, only the steady thrum.

_"Scott?"_

He coughed nervously and looked back up to Allison's window. "I'm outside your house."

Allison's heart raced, and he could vaguely hear her footsteps through the phone, then saw her head peek around her curtain. _"Oh. "_

He waved awkwardly with the phone, not sure what to do, waiting for Allison to make the first move. He could hear her sigh as she moved away from the window. _"Do you want to come in?"_

"I don't have to, I mean– " The call went dead.

"Scott, come on." Allison was standing in her doorway, waving him in. Scott's body felt heavy as lead, riddled with anxiety and questions, but Allison seemed fine, and if she just wanted to not see him she could've said so, not lied.

As Scott got closer to Allison, something became very apparent, and he couldn't help but blush on her behalf, then wrap her tightly up in a hug when he reached the door. "You're okay," he said, relieved, nuzzling into her neck.

He could feel her embarrassment radiating through her as she hid her face in his chest. He kissed the top of her head. "You can smell it?" Allison mumbled into his shirt, her breath warm and damp against the cotton. "God that's so embarrassing. Scott." Her hands clung tightly to him, as if she never wanted to look him the eyes again.

"Hey, hey, look at me." Scott threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her face gently, pulling her back. "I love you. All of you. No matter what." He held her back from hiding her face again by kissing her softly. She tasted sweet like always, and he never wanted her to feel shy or awkward around him, wanted to be her everything, so he kept kissing her, licking into her mouth when her hands traveled down to grab his ass and pull him closer. Her racing heart was setting up a nice rhythm.

Allison pulled away abruptly. "Oh god, we can't. We can watch a movie or something, if you want?" She gave him a peck on the lips, hands moving up his back now. "Sorry, I just get so horny and it's so awkward." Allison looked down at the floor.

"Let me." Scott pushed a lock of hair behind Allison's ear.

"What?"

"Let me." Scott traced one of his hands down Allison's body, enjoying the minute shivers under his fingertips, how responsive she was. He rested it on her hip, thumb rubbing just under her shirt.

"Scott." Her voice trembled, but she leaned in and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck. This was permission.

They broke up the kiss when Scott picked her up and carried her up to her room. He kicked the door closed, then placed her gently on the bed, crawling on after her.

He inhaled her scent as he went, practically salivating at how intense it was, and how different it was from every other time. He lifted up her shirt, going to work quickly on pulling down her sweats and underwear, then tossing them aside. He could smell how aroused she was, how it mixed with the tangy aroma of the blood.

"Scott-" Allison sounded broken as he gently spread her legs. "The towel. In the hamper."

"What?"

"Towel." Allison lifted her hips.

"Oh." Scott grabbed the black towel from the hamper and put it underneath her, and finally. _Finally._

Scott took a few deep breaths through the mouth to calm himself, else he'd shoot off on his own, and this was about Allison. So he kissed her thigh, then the closed folds of her pussy. Her whole body trembled as he brought his hand and spread her open, crimson staining his fingers on the easy slip-slide.

Allison gripped his hair, pushed him down. Scott went easily, licking and lapping to the drumming of her heart.

* * *

2.

Derek takes another drag from his cigarette as he watches Isaac and Boyd touch his boyfriend. Stiles has been suspended in the sling for so long that he has that glassy-eyed, well-fucked look on his face, and even though he'd tried to control himself Derek had had to put a cock ring on him to make him last. From where Derek is standing, he can see Boyd teasing Stiles' prick while Isaac licks his chest. Jesus. Stiles is the only party favor Derek wants to take home, and his patience is dissolving by the second.

The younger wolves scatter at his approach. Stiles looks helpless hanging in the air, his arms and legs pulled apart by four long chains that leave him open and vulnerable. His face flushed with heat and sex, Stiles regards him hazily through hooded eyes. The chains jerk in protest when Derek leans in for a kiss.

"S'against the rules," Stiles mumbles.

"Oh yeah?" Derek smirks. "What else is off limits?"

"No kissing, no marks, and no fucking me."

Derek drags their mouths together, then sucks a bruise on his neck. "Hmm. Doesn't seem like you're in much of a position to refuse." He traces a circle around Stiles' nipples and sniffs his throat. Watching the pack play with Stiles always maddens Derek with jealousy, but, he supposes, that's what makes the sex so hot later. Stiles is his to give, under his conditions, and he can take him back whenever he wants.

Stiles grins lazily. "Better be careful. My boyfriend's watching."

"I'll take my chances." Derek wraps his hand around Stiles' engorged cock, overly sensitive and angry red. "You've been holding out for so long."

Stiles whimpers as Derek positions himself between Stiles' parted legs. His hole is wet with a mix of lube and spit, and Derek can see how stretched he is already. He shoves in two fingers without preamble, and the sling rocks back with the force of Stiles' shudder.

"I know how much you want it, but you're still not open enough to take my cock." Derek grips Stiles' waist with one hand to hold him steady as he twists his fingers deeper, ramming into his prostate. He looks so sexy like this, the damp brown hair matted on his forehead, his lips swollen with lust, that Derek can't wait to get inside.

He unbuckles his belt as Stiles gazes at him. Derek's the only one who's allowed to fuck Stiles; no one else would dare. The conversation in the room grows softer as the pack begins to watch. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Boyd push Erica down onto the couch and climb over her. The howling is going to start earlier than usual, he can sense it.

Derek pulls open Stiles' entrance with his thumbs and pushes his cock inside. It's a tight fit, but Stiles takes it well, moaning softly and biting his lips to keep from shouting. His legs are trembling in the stirrups. Derek swivels his hips in slow arcs to prepare him, and then, unable to hold himself back, he thrusts into Stiles so hard he almost wolfs out. Derek grabs hold of either of Stiles' thighs and throws his head back as he fucks into him, a relentless assertion of ownership. Stiles is openly begging now, and Derek has just enough presence of mind left to remove the ring from Stiles' cock. His orgasm is so intense that Derek can feel Stiles' ass spasm tight around his cock, and the sight of him like that, coming apart under Derek's hand, is enough to make him lose it himself.

He breeds Stiles until he's completely spent, and just as the rest of the pack is turning feral, Derek finds himself calm and blissed out. Through the chains and leather, he manages to gather Stiles into an awkward embrace.

"Get me out of this fucking thing," Stiles demands into Derek's hair. "I can barely feel my arms anymore."

"All right, all right." Derek smiles as he straightens to unlatch the cuffs around Stiles' wrists. "How'd you get to be so kinky anyway?"

"Come on, you love me." Stiles says, looking pleased.

And indeed, Derek does.

* * *

3.

"So," Stiles says, drawing out the vowel. Derek looks curiously up from the breakfast he's inhaling. Stiles licks his lips of syrup and shifts in his seat. "I think I'm ready."

Derek blinks, brow arching. In all of the many years they've been together, some things simply did not change about Derek. "Ready for what?"

Stiles squishes down a grin.

They've been mates for about eight years now. Stiles finished college last year and now enjoyed composing mythological and supernatural 'fact' books that were _actual_ fucking _fact_. The common public would see it as fantasy bullshit, but he was fine with it.

Over the course of these many years, he'd become officially mated to Derek Hale.

It was also through a series of odd, kind-of-awkward events, Stiles discovers that there was a way for humans mated to werewolves to have pups. It starts with magic and eventually ends with C-section, but that's where Deaton comes in; Stiles had more than a few private conversations with him about the subject already. All Deaton needs is his say so to get the ball rolling.

Stiles just wasn't ready for kids right away; he wanted to get through school first and to see how their relationship progressed. Now he's free of school, he can work from home, and Derek and he rarely fight.

Thus, it's time.

Derek _craves_ family. He's hinted at kids before, most times during sex which used to be weird, but Stiles quickly realized it was half instinct, half _Derek_ talking. He also learned how to talk dirty to his werewolf mate and drive him _crazy_ …

"Pups. Kids." He pops another bite of waffle in his mouth. "I'm ready to have some."

Derek drops his fork and just stares at him, mouth open just a little. Stiles can practically see the reboot symbol hovering over Derek's poor brain and he grins.

Derek eventually recovers and his face practically lights up with a smile. The utter _hope_ in it is just a touch heartbreaking. "Really?"

Stiles' grin couldn't _possibly_ get any bigger. "I didn't stutter, did I?"

Later on after a _thorough_ mauling and Derek has hauled them off to bed (they didn't really make it out of the kitchen before sexy stuff happened), Stiles is happily well-fucked. Derek is curled up against him, arm slung over his waist, face buried against his neck.

He'll tease Derek later about the idea of having babies being a turn-on for him…

"Deaton said it could take a few tries," he says, fingers curling against Derek's forearm.

"All the more fun in trying," Derek replies, playful.

Stiles just snirks. "Yeah, well. How many-… Like, what's the _max_ number of kids you'd want? 'Cause I've been thinking just two."

Derek makes a snuffling noise as he noses more at Stiles' neck. "I want however many you'll let me get away with."

Stiles laughs, shaking his head. "Oh god. I'll never get my waifish figure back."

Derek pinches him, makes Stiles squirm and laugh more. "You're not _waifish_. I'd offer to carry if the stuff worked on werewolves."

Stiles suppresses a wider grin; despite being an Alpha, Derek made sure Stiles knew there was equal opportunity between them in bed. But Stiles likes it this way. "I know you would."

Derek smiles against his skin and presses soft, tender kisses up along his neck. To that tickly spot behind his ear. "Love you."

Stiles turns and catches Derek's lips in a short, sweet kiss. Derek isn't openly expressive. Not really. So whenever Derek says _those words_ , it makes Stiles _happy_ and the soul-deep bond they share warm. "Love you too, Sourwolf," he tells Derek, barely above a whisper. Stiles pulls back some to smile again. "Do me a favor though an' gimmie a boy with your eyebrows. 'Cause it'd be a damn shame to not pass those on. They break hearts."

Derek sighs, exasperated but amused. "So long as our girl has your eyes."

"Hope the world is ready for tiny Stilinski minions."

"It isn't."

"Love you too, babe." Stiles smacks Derek's arm, smirking.

Derek catches him in a kiss.

They stay tangled for the longest time simply talking about their plans for starting a family. They even toss around names, plans for a play area. How Stiles is going to have to tell his dad that he isn't allowed to load the kids on sugar before sending them home.

Life is _damn_ good.

* * *

4.

The first tendrils snuck up on Stiles, like they were sprouting from the ground beneath his feet, tickling up between his toes and tracing up the backs of his calves.

When Deaton told him that the tattoos would enhance his magic, he hadn’t realized that _this_ was a part of the bargain. Stiles was a born a Spark, but the tattoos made him an Empath, as well.

He’d never told Derek specifics—things he could feel around his mate as many as 1,000 miles away—because it was supposed to be _intentional._ He was only ever supposed to actively reach out to a person’s heart, not receive signals coming _at_ him. His life never did go according to the rules, though, because Stiles was paired with a werewolf. With werewolves, things tended to get intense.

Stiles’ steps slowed as he walked through the crowds of other magickers and settled in a seat in the back of a lecture on scrying, hoping Derek’s feelings would fade. He was down in Arizona for a convention of sorts, determined at least to establish connections if not learn some new things.

But, he had a connection of his own, one that was creeping up his spine and settling deep into his belly.

Derek had to be missing him.

In moments of high stress with the pack or quiet moments with Derek, Stiles could often feel an echo of warmth, fuzzy and overwhelming in Stiles’ chest, or desperate and loud coming from Derek that would settle in Stiles’ shoulders. Sometimes the wave of emotion was so strong, Stiles couldn’t move for the intensity.

This time, it was his cock twitching in his pants, and it had him shifting and gripping the seat cushion.

Stiles couldn’t help but imagine Derek lying in bed, or maybe out near the lake in the reserve, sneaking a hand under his shorts and palming at his cock while thinking about Stiles. Missing him, wanting to smell him, mark him, bite him, ride him—

A strong wave of lust crashed over him, and he felt the ghost of Derek’s palm over his cock, wrapping fingers around it and tugging.

Stiles looked around in mortification, squirming a little—and then a lot when the palm left and came back slick with spit. There was no hand on his cock, but he could feel every second of Derek’s pleasure, spreading out all over and making him sweat.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed, glad the lecturer was playing scenes from a documentary, because Stiles couldn’t—he couldn’t—

The strokes were desperate, and Stiles was leaking into his pants, thighs clenching and cock twitching as Derek thumbed over the head and twisted his palm at the top, something he’d learned from Stiles.

Stiles shuddered, grabbing at his knees and swallowing when an older woman turned around in her seat to look at the clock behind him.

Derek was getting faster and messier after a moment, and Stiles couldn’t help but jerk his hips when his balls drew up, hands scrabbling too late for the base of his cock as rolls of white-hot pleasure overtook him, Derek’s climax making him come.

Stiles found the movement in his legs in a short moment, surprisingly, and rushed out to a restroom nearby.

He dialed Derek’s number as soon as he’d caught his breath.

“Hey,” Derek answered on the first ring, still breathless.

“Derek,” Stiles said quietly. “Hi.”

“How—how’s Sedona?”

“Stupid hot,” Stiles complained, listening to Derek’s short laugh. “I was just thinking about you, so. Thought I’d call.”

He could hear the squeak of bedsprings over the line. “I was thinking about you, too. Just now,” Derek mumbled, voice gravelly.

Stiles laughed. “Yeah? Miss me?”

“God, yeah.”

Stiles hummed, listening to Derek move around their room and from the sounds of it, wet a washcloth while he held the phone against his ear with a shoulder. Stiles could see it so clearly, Derek wiping streaks of come off his stomach with the light streaming in from the bathroom window.

“I have something exciting to tell you when I get home,” Stile continued. “Also, I love you; just wanted to say that.”

“I love you, too.”

Stiles grinned.

“Can I call you tomorrow?”

“You can call me anytime, dollface,” Stiles joked. “I gotta go, though. Spilled something so I gotta go change.”

“Miss you,” Derek mumbled again, before hanging up.

Now, how to get back to the hotel?

* * *

5.

They've been together for six years. Married for four.

In general Stiles is pretty impressed with how his life turned out. For one, he’s actually alive (those teenage years were a little iffy), for two, he gets to spend every day with Derek Hale. Pretty incredible really.

The first time they had sex Stiles couldn’t shut up after. He rambled on about all the different things they could do, the positions, the kinks- anything he could think of. In the beginning they didn’t do any of those things. Being with Derek was enough and getting to have sex whenever he wanted was amazeballs.

After a few years Stiles brought up kinks again, a little nervous to share his, but also interested in Derek’s own. The conversation had gone much better than expected. After fumbling over his words for a full minute he finally spat out that he wants to be tied up.

Four years into their marriage and Derek still hasn’t tried what Stiles asked for. He isn’t complaining or anything. Most of the time he doesn’t think about it. Only when Derek suggests something he wants to try does it irritate him. He has no problem doing things for Derek-

It’s just-

He wishes Derek would reciprocate. It hurts his husband is either disgusted by what he needs or unwilling to understand. It’s all about trust and surrender. Giving over all control to someone else. Explaining it to Derek would just defeat the whole purpose so he gives up. Lets it fester and turn bitter in the back of his mind.

It’s another three years of secret discontent before things finally change.

****

Stiles wakes and tenses immediately. He can’t move, he’s naked and he’s been blindfolded. He hasn’t been kidnapped since the mermaid incident and he’s unhappy about the prospect of repeating it.

“Sh. It’s just me.”

Derek’s voice floods the room. The haze of sleep slowly dissipates and Stiles is slammed with what this really is. Both wrists and ankles are spread out across the bed and tied to a bedpost. His cock is instantly hard and dripping pre-come. Tears prick the corner of his eyes and all he can think is _finally_.

A raging inferno lights in the pit of his stomach and he squirms, moaning as the restraints hold him in place. He hasn’t been touched yet and it’s already too much. Goosebumps raise over his skin and it feels like bolts of electricity are thrumming through his body.

Two fingers caress down his left side, making him jump and then arch into the touch. He’s completely at Derek’s mercy and it’s all he’s ever wanted. The fingers stop at the bottom of his ribcage and then disappear completely. Stiles whimpers at the loss of contact. Every nerve is tingling and his senses are heightened in anticipation.

Breath tickles over his ear and his whole body shakes.

“I’m sorry I took so long. I was afraid of this, after what happened with--”

_Kate_ Stiles minds supply.

“I’m ready now though.”

The words come out as more of a growl and Stiles grits his teeth against the wave of lust that washes over him. His dick twitches and he curls his hands into fists.

The bed shifts down by his legs and he hears the rustle of Derek moving around before the room quiets again. His heart pounds in his chest and it’s hard to breathe. The waiting is killing him.

Wet heat suddenly envelops his cock and Stiles cries from the pleasure of it, bucking his hips as much as the restraints allow.

Derek sucks him all the way down until Stiles can feel his nose press into the curls at his base.

“Oh my-- oh my god!” Stiles shouts, unable to keep quiet any longer. No sooner have the words left his lips is Derek gone. Leaving Stiles cock throbbing and stinging as the air meets the sloppy mess Derek has made of it.

“Keep quiet.” It’s a command, not a request. A shiver runs down Stiles spine. He clenches his jaw to keep from calling out when Derek takes him down his throat again. It’s all too much and he feels himself shake with the overwhelming pleasure. A possessive hands comes to rest on his belly, a firm reminder of who he belongs to. It’s more than he can take and he finally loses it. He comes in long spurts down Derek’s throat, mouth dropping open in a silent scream.

* * *

6.

“Stiles? Hey, I’m ho-whoa, what happened in here?”

Stiles looks up from the Kitchenaid that is running smoothly through the brownie mix he’s currently working on as Danny comes through the kitchen door. They’ve only been living together for two weeks, so Stiles figures it’s okay that he still gets little butterflies in his stomach when Danny comes home from work - to _their_ house - each day and finds him before he even sets down his bag. It’s cute and sweet and so very much Danny.

Even though today is a hard day for Stiles, he still feels that flutter of excitement and it makes him feel slightly better.

Danny wanders through the breakfast room and looks at the six kinds of cookies spread out on the table before walking over to the island and sniffing at the four trays of brownies cooling there. Stiles had been excited when they’d found this house with _this_ kitchen. Stiles loves that there are two ovens, allowing him to do things like bake a zillion things in one day when he’s feeling like the world is crashing in around him.

Ever since Stiles learned how to bake at his mom’s elbow when he was only 10, baking has always been soothing for him. Even when the pain and hurt had been excruciating the first time he pulled out her recipe book and started her favorite cake recipe after she passed away, he found something comforting in it. That night he and his dad shared the cake that she would always make for dad’s birthday. It had almost been a celebration, for no reason at all other than it was _birthday_ cake. They didn’t talk about her or talk about the fact that Stiles had maybe thrown a very heavy, very breakable glass measuring cup at the wall about halfway through, but they’d smiled and ate and breathed together.

And then they’d both silently gone off to bed. Stiles cried himself to sleep that night and he’s pretty sure his dad did, too.

Danny slides up behind Stiles and hooks his chin over his shoulder, hands resting gently on his hips. “What’s up?” he asks, gentle and soft.

Stiles shrugs and turns off the mixer, trying to tamp down the pain threatening to break through the surface again. “Breaking in the new kitchen?” He doesn’t mean for it to be a question, but that’s how it comes out.

And Danny, who isn’t even a werewolf, is still a human lie detector - or, at least where Stiles in concerned - shakes his head. “Try again.”

Stiles sighs. “It’s my mom’s birthday.” It’s barely over a whisper, but Danny is close enough to hear it. Stiles tries to unlock the mixer to put the new batch of brownies into a pan, but Danny stills his hands with his own and turns him.

He presses a soft kiss to Stiles’ mouth and then another. “Tell me.”

Stiles loves Danny, but he’s never really told him much about his mom. It’s not been on purpose. Honestly, Stiles _never_ really talks about his mom to anyone. It’s been almost 15 years since she passed, but every anniversary, every birthday, still cripples him. Talking about her only seems to make it worse.

But Stiles... well, he needs this and he doesn’t trust anyone as much as he trusts Danny. So, he nods.

And Danny smiles softly at him.

And Stiles hands him an apron.

And Danny helps him bake more brownies and cookies.

And Stiles talks until it’s past midnight and his voice goes hoarse.

Later, after Danny coaxes all the sadness out of Stiles, he replaces it. Replaces it with wet, longing kisses and gentle caresses; with his open mouth on every inch of Stiles’ skin and experienced fingers opening him up, making him ache and beg for _more more more_ ; with the long, slow slide of Danny’s hard length inside of him, filling him, making him sweat and shake and come apart beneath him; with whispered _I love you’s_ that make him feel whole again.

And then he holds Stiles tightly in his arms and let’s him cry because he misses his mom every day and it hurts to talk about her. Cries because sometimes you just need your mom.

In the morning, still naked and wrapped up in Danny’s arms, the warm sun streaming in the windows, Stiles feels better - _lighter_ \- than he has in a long time.

All because of Danny.

All because Danny loves him.

* * *

7.

Stiles’ sighs contentedly as he slowly sinks down on Derek’s cock. Gazing through his lashes at his boyfriend, he frowns a bit at the distracted look he finds there. With an irritated huff, he plants his hands on Derek’s chest, rises up, and slams himself back down.

“What was that for?” he growls, his gaze finally sharpening.

“Well, it didn’t seem like me riding your dick was enough to keep your attention,” Stiles answers petulantly, leaning forward to catch Derek’s lips in a wet, messy kiss. Derek sighs into the kiss, but Stiles can tell he’s not giving it his all.

Sitting up with a frustrated sigh, Stiles starts to move off his boyfriend. Derek’s hands on his hips tighten and hold him still. “Where are you going?”

“You don’t seem all that into it tonight,” Stiles says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Derek stares, dumbfounded, and gestures towards the rock hard cock Stiles is currently _sitting on_. “I beg to differ.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Okay, yeah. I’ll give you that one.” He rolls his hips and watches Derek’s eyelids flutter when he moans. “But you’re, like, a million miles away, dude. What gives?”

Derek sighs and flexes his hands on Stiles’ hips, watching as he drags one up Stiles’ side and across his chest to rest above his heart. “I was thinking...”

“Yeah. Got that. What I don’t get is _why_ when I’m _riding your cock_!” Putting action to words, Stiles rolls his hips and leans back on his hands, driving Derek deep. They both gasp and moan with the movement.

“S-Stiles,” Derek pants. “I want...” His voice trails off on a wailing moan as Stiles repositions himself, leaning forward and licking a broad stripe over the scar sitting directly over Derek’s heart.

Derek pants, and he buries his hand in Stiles’ hair, holding him there. “That, Stiles. I want to finish...”

Stiles jerks up and freezes, staring wide-eyed. “That” is the half formed mating bond Stiles inadvertently initiated months ago. They had been dating for almost a year by then, but had just started having sex.

Derek hadn’t even considered that it might be a possibility, even given Stiles’ love of biting. The younger man hadn’t known what it meant to bite deep enough to draw blood while releasing deep within his werewolf lover. Derek had been so surprised, he’d pushed Stiles off of him when he felt the first stirrings, wild-eyed and completely unready.

Stiles had been very understanding, leaving the decision of completing the bond entirely up to Derek. They hadn’t spoken of it again.

They both feel the tattered ends of the bond, though. Especially in times of high stress or when one or the other is threatened. Or late at night, when they are wrapped around each other, deep in that intimacy that close couples share.

Stiles takes a deep breath and looks closely at Derek. “Are you sure?” he whispers hopefully. “You really --”

“Stiles!” Derek growls with a smile. “Yes! God knows why, but I am absolutely, 100% positive that I want to bind myself to you for the rest of our lives.” His smile turns predatory; and he pulls Stiles down, crushing their lips together. With a flick of his tongue, he pries Stiles’ mouth open, delving deep and flipping them over.

Driving into his soon-to-be-mate’s welcoming warmth, he tangles his hand in Stiles’ hair and pulls his head to the side, baring his neck. Stiles moans turn to deep, loud cries as Derek sets a brutal rhythm and sucks bruises into his neck. He feels the sting of Derek’s fangs as they scrape against his skin.

Derek’s rhythm starts to falter, and he reaches down between them to wrap his hand around Stiles’ dick, jerking it just this side of too hard as he buries himself deep and speeds his hips.

“Close,” Stiles moans, arching his back and driving himself down hard onto Derek’s cock. “So close.”

Derek hums in agreement and sets his teeth to Stiles’ chest, right above his heart. His orgasm rips through him, and he bites deep. Stiles wails as he spurts across his belly and Derek’s hand, and then gasps as love and contentment and possessiveness engulf him.

His laughter is full of joy as he feels the effects of the completed mate bond. He can see it reflected in Derek’s eyes and revels in it as it flows between them, warm and free and easy.

* * *

8.

Stiles stands at the sink, reaching for the sprayer, and _again_ his belly ends up soaked. It’s the third time this week and he’s really thinking about swearing off dishes for _reasons_ that everyone else in the house ought to be able to understand. “Derek!” He steps back, pushing at the suds that make a line across his shirt, then tries to tug the shirt back down into place. “Lydia!”

“Is there a problem?” Lydia leans against the doorway, forehead furrowed as she contemplates one nail. Stiles glares at her. Her petite build. Her _skinny_ stomach.

“This is your fault,” he snaps, and gestures at his soaked front. “ _Your_ fault. Two guys, one girl, and here I was thinking that when we got around to having kids it’d be _you_ who carried them. But _no_. It’s Stiles. Good old reliable _Stiles_ who gets to be as big as a cow and waddling all over the place and not able to reach the damned sprayer on the sink in order to do the dishes and _maybe_ it’d be nice if someone _else_ decided to do them for a while until this is over.”

Lydia blinks. “Are you done?”

“With the dishes or ranting?”

“Ranting.” Lydia steps closer, framing his face before kissing him quickly. “You’re beautiful, Stiles, and you are _not_ as big as a cow. A small dog, perhaps. Or a wolf.” She flashes a small smirk. “And you are well aware that if I could get pregnant, we would probably both be carrying children right now.”

“There’s irony for you: one magical human male can get pregnant, and his werewolf immune human wife can’t.” Stiles can’t help the slight whine in his tone. He’s hot, he’s wet, and he’s frustrated. It’s _summer_ , and he still has at least two more months before this is done and someone else gets to hold the baby.

Her gaze softens. “I like it when you call me wife, even though I’m legally married to Derek.” Her hand cups his face, then glides lower, toying with the buttons on his shirt. “Are you upset that we’ve done this? That we’re starting a family now?”

“I might’ve liked to finish my degree—Lydia, what are you doing?”

“Stripping you.” Her gaze is guileless. “Your shirt’s wet. You should take it off. I think your pants are wet, too.”

“I wouldn’t know, I can’t see them.” But Stiles doesn’t need to see her hand when it presses against his crotch, kneading him through his sweats. “Okay, so, maybe if they aren’t yet, they will be if you keep going like that.”

She kisses him again, fingers pushing his shirt open as she glides down his body, kisses following the trail of hair down his chest to his belly. She nuzzles the bulge of their child, hands firm against his taut skin while her mouth moves lower.

Lydia teases him through the sweats first, making _sure_ that his sweats are soaked before she finally pushes them down and lets him thrust into her mouth. He can’t see her, but he can feel her.

At a soft growl, he glances up. Derek is there, watching them both, gaze fond and possessive. Stiles jerks his head in silent invitation, sighing when Derek moves behind him, cradling his body and giving him that lovely strength to lean into.

Stiles lets Derek hold him up when his knees go weak as he gives himself over to Lydia’s ministrations. She is an expert with a cock in her mouth, teasing him unmercifully, nail gently scraping just behind his balls until he quivers from need. “Oh fuck, Lydia… please… Just…” He doesn’t have words for this, for the way she makes him feel.

Stiles just barely catches the flash of movement; Derek’s fingers thread through Lydia’s hair, holding her as his hips push Stiles into her, fucking her throat deeply. She swallows and he loses control, spilling into her mouth.

She kisses him, all bitter musk, then pulls Derek in for a kiss as well. “Our Stiles needs to be reminded just how much we love him,” she murmurs. She steps back to shed her blouse, bra a bright flash of crimson across her breasts.

Derek lifts him onto the counter; Stiles no longer cares about the water when his ass lands in a puddle. All he cares is that he has his lovers and they will take care of him. He can get through anything—even pregnancy—with his family close by.

* * *

9.

He found her in the woods, naked and looking skyward; her dark hair a sable line between her pale shoulders.

John stepped closer and grabbed for his weapon. “Elyce?”

She turned and her eyes were wet with unshed tears. He immediately closed the distance between them, draped his deputy’s jacket over her.

“I miss it,” she whispered against his shirt.

“You could...” he trailed off, unsure of what he could say.

“No.” She pulled back and shook her head, a weak smile on her face, “But tonight?”

The wind whipped through the trees, but around them the air remained still. He tipped her face up until he could look into her amber eyes. He pulled his jacket tighter and kissed her smile When she deepened the kiss, he was helpless to stop.

“Talk to me,” he whispered against her cheek.

“There is a story ...” she held his hand in hers, ran her lips over his wedding band, “of a witch who bound herself to her human lover on the final waxing moon of summer.”

“Elyce.” She unbuttoned his top button. When he raised an eyebrow, she moved to the next, then the next, then started to pull his open shirt from his pants.

“I love you, John,” she looked up at him and he saw only her. “Let me?”

“And the consequences of using magic?” He raised her hand and kissed her open palm. “Do you remember last time?”

“This is different,” her fingers touched his mouth. “This is for us.”

He leaned into her touch, needed to feel more of her. “If anyone comes--”

“No one will come,” she moved her hands up his chest, “Trust me.”

She slid his jacket off and worked at his buckle with sure, steady hands. He ran his fingers down her stomach and felt her fingers tighten on his belt. He brushed his lips over her collar and laughed weakly when she shivered. She pulled him to the ground and grinned as he lay over her, when he weight he shifted against her bare skin.

“Outside?” he whispered into her neck and steadied himself by her heartbeat there. His skin was hot where it touched hers, his clothes too confining.

“Yes,” she whispered, leaned her head back. A soft breeze beside them and his shoes and pants appeared in a neat pile.

“I hate when you do that,” he laughed weakly against her.

“You love when I do that.” His shirt was neatly folded, too.

“I love _you_ ,” he whispered. He wanted her, he was desperate to feel her come apart. He licked the place beside her ear that made her arch into him, then her jaw. He bit lightly along her neck, her shoulder.

He shivered as she ran her fingers through his hair. He lost himself in the feel of her, in the way her body fit to his. Then she lifted her hips into his as he took her breast in his hand, followed with his mouth. He whispered mindless promises against her skin and she repeated them. The air crackled into soft globes of light casting a warm glow over them.

“I’ll always love you,” she breathed and his teeth skimmed her stomach. He shivered as her fingers played over his shoulders, when her hand clung to him. Something in him sped up, urgency took over. His heart fell for her, for them.

He ran his hand over her thigh, kissed her knee. Her thigh, then her belly. He wrapped her leg around his waist, ran his hand over the softness of her skin. He slid into her and stilled, her silken heat surrounded him and tightened around him.

He set a slow pace and she met him each time; her hands moved over his shoulders, her legs around him. His skin burned where her hands trailed and his mind flashed with images of them together like this. The air shivered as they moved together, as her power grew. Magic vibrated through them, and the air pulsed. She moaned his name against his shoulder as the orgasm poured over her. The power around them surged through him, into him, and he rode the wave of lust, love and need.

Spent, he lay beside her and tucked her tightly against his side. Around them the lights pulsed in erratic beat. His mind was blanked and he fought to speak. “Great story and,” he squeezed her shoulder, “I really love magic.”

Beside him, Elyce laughed.

* * *

10.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” Stiles waves his arm agitatedly. Only, his left arm is bonded to Scott’s right one like there’s an invisible elastic. Scott tugs back, accidently flinging Stiles into his body, knocking them into the brick wall of Derek’s loft.

Isaac snorts, ducking his head to hide laughter.

“This isn’t funny,” Derek snaps, reading his ancient-looking book.

“You’re telling us,” Scott says slowly, “that to stop us from sticking together _his_ significant other has to give _me_ , uh--”

“A blowjob,” Stiles says, “would be the translation. And yours to me.”

Derek closes the book carefully. “Yes. That’s how the witches’ magic works.”

It’s quiet for a moment, then Stiles bursts out, “What’s the point of that?” This time Scott doesn’t try to stop his flailing.

“I don’t think it’s about you two.”

“We hurt their coven last week,” Isaac says, gesturing between Derek and himself. They share a complicated look.

Derek nods. “Now they’re trying to hurt our pack.”

“Tear you apart with jealousy?” Stiles suggests. “Assholes.”

Stiles and Scott share a look of their own, with an eyebrow wiggle and a shrug. Stiles sighs, running the hand not invisibly stuck to Scott’s through his hair. “So this is a thing that has to happen.”

Derek approaches, frames Stiles’ face in his big hands, and kisses Stiles deeply.

It feels … weird. Physically, Stiles can tell he's being kissed, but there’s no connection, nothing that he usually associates with the pure awesomeness of kissing Derek. It’s empty.

Beside them, Scott gasps. His eyes are glassy and he’s biting his lower lip.

“ _You_ felt that?” Stiles asks. “Not fair.” 

Scott turns a floundering look to Isaac. Isaac leans down, dragging his mouth over Scott’s, soft and sensual.

“Holy fuck,” Stiles breathes out, suddenly weak in the knees, lips tingling. It’s not like when he’s with normally with Derek, there’s a different flavour to it, but he _feels_ it.

“That’s it,” Scott says, nosing at Isaac’s cheek. “I want my boyfriend back. Go suck off my best friend, okay?” Isaac laughs softly, nuzzling closer. Stiles seriously doubts any jealousy will happen there.

Derek frowns as he assesses Stiles carefully. Stiles trails fingertips over Derek's mouth. “It’s just … what we gotta do. I want my boyfriend back too.”

Maybe it’s the truthful rhythm of his heart, but Derek nods, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder.

As it turns out, Isaac has a very nice mouth that feels great around Stiles’ cock; however, Stiles much rather likes looking at what’s happening beside them. Stiles has seen Scott’s dick in passing before. He’s definitely seen Derek’s mouth around a cock.

The new combination is, unsurprisingly, stupidly hot.

Scott seems to think the same about Stiles’ dick and Isaac’s mouth, so thankfully that makes it less weird.

It’s not long before Stiles’ cock is hard, ready to fucking explode -- but there’s something missing, keeping him from tipping over the edge. He’s hot, sweaty, and breathless, but nothing is making him come.

“Dude, what the hell?” Scott says hoarsely. He’s red in the face and just as frustrated.

Stiles shifts his feet, back scraping on brick wall, and his hand brushes against Scott’s. It’s like electricity, a mix of Isaac’s kiss and Derek’s, all from a touch. He feels it as Isaac moans around his dick, and hears a familiar sound from Derek.

“Huh,” Stiles says, taking Scott’s hand in his, lacing their fingers. Both their boyfriends groan deeply. “Listen, we should--” Stiles manages to get out while Isaac goes to town on his hard cock. Scott squeezes Stiles’ hand really hard when Derek does the same to him.

A strangled sound escapes Stiles as he leans with his face turned toward Scott, who's with the program. They kiss, an uncoordinated mashing of lips and wet tongues.

It’s a circuit, blazing through Stiles when he comes, leaking into Scott as he does. Isaac swallows around Stiles, pulling off with a gasp, and gets himself off. Derek holds Stiles’ eye contact, mouth on Scott and jerking himself off, coming hard.

The invisible bond snaps and disappears, freeing them.

“Orgasms for all,” Stiles says shakily, sinking to the ground. Derek’s there to catch him.

Scott and Isaac already have their arms around each other. They kiss, causing both to smile. Scott says confidently, “We’ll all be fine.”

“Nothing is breaking any of us up,” Stiles agrees, feeling boneless, curling into Derek’s chest. “Especially not asshole witches.”

Derek kisses him deeply, pure awesomeness again.

* * *

11.

Roscoe Warren Gottfried III was a perfect roommate. He shared everything – from chemistry books about covalent bonds (it was really a shame his roommate wasn't majoring in chemistry; his nose scrunched whenever Gottfried shared his extensive knowledge on the subject, which was often) to his vintage war bond ads that he'd framed and hung up throughout the dorm room to his excellent collection of bowties and cravats featuring sailor knots.

Gottfried was in the group kitchen down the hall, whisking together warm water and flax seed meal to use as a binder in his cinnamon buns, which he would generously share with his roommate. And his roommate's visiting boyfriend, to whom he owed a cinnamon bun-sized apology.

***

_Triumph Over Tyranny! Buy War Bonds!_ , _Doing all you can, brother? Buy War Bonds!_ , _…and WE talk about sacrifice. Buy War Bonds._ The entire room was trying to kill his erection, Derek thought, and looked down at Stiles, crouched between his legs. Frowning at Derek's dick. Okay, that was even worse than the posters.

"Spit it out, Stiles," he said with a sigh.

"I haven't swallowed anything yet," Stiles said. He leaned forward and swiped his tongue up the underside of Derek's cock. It perked up a bit at that, and Stiles reached out to hold it. Derek settled back on his elbows to watch.

"Oh my God, I can't believe he's distracting me from your dick!" Stiles burst out. Derek let his head hit the pillow. It was going to be awhile, he could tell. "A month. A _whole month_ I've been dreaming of your dick. I had dick dreams, Derek! And when you finally get here, Gott-fucking-fried has to call the cops on you!"

"To be fair, I was the naked man on your fire escape," Derek said to the ceiling. It had been a sexy idea at the time. Or just desperate. Skype sex was not the same thing as Stiles' hands on him.

"Three hours. We could have been fucking for three hours, Derek!"

"And yet we're still not fucking," Derek mumbled.

"I'm so pissed, I could—"

"Suck my dick?" Derek supplied, hopeful.

"Yeah! That'll put him in his place!"

Stiles sealed his lips around the head of Derek's cock, his tongue probing up and under the foreskin. Derek didn't bother biting back a groan. He was tingling all the way down to his toes.

"And another thing," Stiles said, pulling off with a _pop_. Derek growled in frustration. "I have pictures of you. On my desk; you can't fit anything else on these walls. You're pretty much naked in quite a few of them. I _know_ he's looked! He should have recognized you!"

"Stiles. Will you please, please stop complaining about your roommate and suck my dick?"

Stiles glared at him. "Fine!"

He almost choked himself on Derek's dick. His raised eyebrows dared Derek to even think about laughing, but it was no laughing matter to him. Stiles' mouth. Stiles' mouth after a month apart, damn college. Derek's lips parted as he watched Stiles angrily suck him down. A bit of drool dripped from Stiles' lower lip, just like it always did.

"Hey," Derek said, reaching across to run his knuckle over Stiles' puffed-out cheek. "I missed you."

Stiles grinned around his mouthful of cock, his expression softening. "Mfashearh," he said, and took even more of Derek in. Derek fell back against the pillows, a noise halfway between a moan and a whimper escaping his lips. Stiles squeezed the base of his cock, his fingers slipping in spit-damp skin. He bobbed up and down, lips meeting fingers, back and forth. Derek could smell himself getting ready to come, could feel it building. His dick hit the back of Stiles' throat as the door was flung open.

"Cinnamon buns!" Roscoe Gottfried cried. His eyes widened at the tableau before him. "Saint Jude on a cracker!"

The buns smelled really good. And it was with a confused bark of surprise and rumble of his stomach that Derek came, down Stiles' throat and over his chin.

***

Roscoe Warren Gottfried III was an exceptional roommate. He kept take-out menus in a clearly labeled binder, knowledgeably traded tips on stocks and bonds, and knew when the hell to clear out for the weekend.

And he left the cinnamon buns.

***

Stiles gave the buns a murderous look.

"Oh my God, Stiles," Derek groaned. "Yes, your buns taste better. Now stop moping and get over here."

* * *

12.

“Remember when you said 'we're brothers now' to me?”

“Yeah.”

“And you know how it took me a couple years to fully get that?”

“Stubborn asshole,” Derek muttered.

“Hey, I came around. To be fair you weren't exactly oozing brotherly love.”

“Why is this relevant now?”

“Well, I just wanted you to know that I love you, bro. But I'm totally blaming you for getting me into this.”

“You act like you don't enjoy it.”

“We're currently naked, tied together, and surrounded by a bunch of wood nymphs who are going to watch you fuck me for their own amusement. Where's the romance?”

“What, like Stiles watching and giving color commentary like he did last time?”

Scott laughed in spite of himself.

“As if he'd never seen us fuck before.”

“As if he'd never _joined in_ before.”

“It's just different when it's like this, having outsiders watch us.”

“It's not for their amusement, you know. This is a traditional lunar ritual between the highest ranking pack members. It proves the strength of the pack bond.”

“I know, I know. You've told me. Doesn't the fact that we do this _a lot_ make a difference?”

“They like to control it, the timing and positioning. And they need to make sure that you and I have a strong bond independent of the rest of the pack. You and I are rarely ever together without someone else there.”

“You make it sound like we just have pack orgies all the time.”

“We _do_ have pack orgies all the time. Why do you think Peter hangs his paintings of Bacchus all over the house?”

“That's supposed to be Bacchus?”

And that was when the wood nymphs started chanting.

The magic bond holding them together started to buzz, making their skin tingle, their bodies heat up, and their blood flow.

Derek hated feeling out of control. When something forced him to shift against his will, he struggled against it fang and claw. But getting really horny, really fast wasn't exactly the worst sensation in the world. He wasn't forced all the way into his alpha form. The nymphs didn't find it as aesthetically pleasing as their beta forms.

Derek's dick got hard against Scott's ass, which was starting to leak what Derek always assumed was some kind of magical nymph lube. Scott was pushing back insistently, helpfully rubbing his slick crack against Derek's cock.

“Fuck,” Derek exhaled sharply. He _needed_ to be inside Scott. He shook his head, trying to clear out the foggy, lust-driven haze. “Do you need me to-”

“Just get inside me now,” Scott growled.

So Derek lined up and pushed into the wet, tight heat, and everything else—the noise of the forest, even the presence of the nymphs—disappeared. Pleasure coursed through Derek's body, cresting with every thrust, and he just wanted to take and take and take.

The nymph magic kept them in the awkward standing position, so Derek had to tighten his fingers around Scott's hips to get leverage, sinking his claws in. Scott's responding howl was a mix of pleasure and pain.

Derek sped up his pace, sweat starting to drip down his chest. Scott bucked back, reaching his arm around to grab Derek's ass, urging him to go faster, trying to get him deeper.

Derek was starting to feel light-headed as his orgasm built, all his heat pooling in his groin. He was vaguely aware of Scott starting to pump his own cock with his hand, but as soon as Scott's ass clenched around him, signaling his climax, Derek forgot everything else but the bliss that exploded through him.

Before he fully came back to himself, the bonds dissolved, and Derek and Scott both crashed naked to the forest floor. The wood nymphs, the fog, the chanting, all of it was gone. Just like that. The nymphs having gotten what they came for.

Scott looked bewildered and sex-stupid, and Derek guessed his own expression matched, because they both cracked up at the same time.

“Not it.”

“Not it for what?”

“For telling the rest of the pack that they missed the wood nymphs' sneak sex attack this time.” Scott's voice softened. “We should, though, do something soon. Just the two of us.”

Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, so maybe the wood nymphs are right.”

* * *

13.

Ms. Morrell walked into the classroom. The general chatter died down, and she walked to the desk, and looked at the class.

“I will be taking you for Chemistry today. Mr. Harris is unavailable,” she announced. “Open your books to page 456, we will be covering chemical bonds today.”

She looked at the class, making sure to meet Scott’s eyes. He smiled, just a little, she smiled as she flicked her eyes over the rest of the class. They were careful, so very careful, and, she wasn’t prepared to jeopardise it. The class quietened, and she looked over her notes. She stood up and walked to the board, picking up the chalk.

“Today we’re going to look at dative bonds. A dative bond is a type of covalent bond where one atom provides both of the electrons in the board; dative in this context means ‘donate’.” She turned to look at the class, almost disappointed when she saw that Scott wasn’t looking at her, but instead writing notes, dutifully. She turned back to the board and started to draw an example.

“When ammonia and hydrogen chloride mix, a reaction takes place which results in ammonium chloride. The NH3 turns into NH4, it does this by stealing a hydrogen molecule from the hydrogen chloride, but does so by making a dative bond. The ammonia donates their free pairs of electrons to the naked hydrogen nucleus,” she turns from the board then, and looks at Scott, who was looking at her this time, and blushing nicely. “And the hydrogen nucleus accepts the electrons.”

Ms. Morrel finished the diagram and stepped to one side, so everyone could see. “Any questions?”

She set the class to work, and sat at the desk. She flicked through some notes from sessions she’s taken and added notes and thoughts. Students walked up to the desk and handed in their papers as they finish and she started to look them over. When Scott came over, he bent down slightly.

“Ms. Morrell, I need to talk to you, about the class, I’m not sure I understand some parts?” He asked.

“Of course, Scott. Would you be ok to stay after class? I could go over it again then.” She offered, looking up at him.

Scott grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back, struck by just how pretty he was.

“That would be great.”

“Alright then,” she said, and Scott walked back to his set. She saw Stiles look curiously at him, but Scott just shook his head. She felt a twinge of fear, but she knew Scott could handle it; it wasn’t their first time, after all.

~~~

Scott hung behind, taking his time packing his bag. He managed to get rid of Stiles deftly, who smiled at Ms. Morrell as he passed. She smiled and nodding, making a note to arrange an appointment with him; she hadn’t spoken to him in a while and wanted to make sure he was still doing alright.

She pushed all thought of work out of her mind as Scott approached the desk. She swiveled the chair around as he walked around the side of the desk, dropping to his knees.

“Good boy,” she murmured, running a hand through her hair. The arousal she had been tamping down since the start of class came to life, and she felt a growing dampness between her legs.

Scott ran his hands up the insides of her legs, inching her skirt up and over her knees, up her thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin there. She squirmed slightly, wanting a firmer touch. He sucked kisses up her thigh, teeth digging into her skin. She wondered if he left a mark.

Scott nudged her panties out of the way, tongue finding her clit. She gasped, lifting her hips slightly, pushing herself against Scott’s face. Scott groaned and licked harder. Long fingers pushed into her, curling and stroking in time with his tongue.

Sweat broke out on her skin, and she started to pant. She could feel her muscles start to clench, and Scott groaned again, tongue working faster. She bit her fist, hunching forward slightly as she came, clenching rythmiclly around Scott’s fingers.

Scott gave her clit one last gentle lick and pulled away. Ms. Morrell panted, hand coming up to cup Scott’s face. She ran a thumb through the wetness on Scott’s cheeks, then pushed her thumb into Soctt’s mouth, gasping as he sucked her juices off it.

“Good boy,” she murmured.

* * *

14.

Allison had been saying no for a while. Not because she didn't want to try, but because it was a **big** deal. But now she was lying back on her bed, blindfolded, ready.

"Have you shaved down there as I asked?" Came the voice, and Allison nodded, before remembering the rules.

"Yes, master. I'm smooth." She felt hands tugging her jeans down, and pulling them off quickly. She was wearing no panties underneath, and she shivered as his cold fingers stroked the skin, causing her to jump.

"Arms above your head." He said firmly, and without waiting for her, he pulled them there. She heard the scratch of plastic as a tie secured her wrists to the headboard. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears as the same happened at her ankles - the plastic biting into them, spreading her wide. Though she was still wearing her shirt, he ripped through it, until her chest was exposed.

His hands moved away from her, and she listened to the zipper of his pants, the flutter of his clothes as they hit the ground, but other than that he was silent. Allison felt herself getting wetter, the uncertainty of when he was going to strike proving too much for her self control. But really - what control did she have in this situation at all?

The first belt hit came from nowhere, and she screamed out in surprise.

"Count, slave." She screamed again as the belt bit into her flesh.

"T-two..." She panted, revelling in the pain. Whenever the belt got too close between her legs, she'd mentally beg to be touched.

"T... Ten." She gasped at last, and then silence as his hands replaced the belt, soothing the skin. When his hand brushed against her inner thigh, her hips lifted from the bed, and he chuckled.

"What's wrong, slave?" He said, blowing some air onto her clit. "Feeling a little... sensitive?"

"Master, please, I want to feel you." She groaned, her head rolling, and her wrists hurting as she pulled away from the headboard - but she was securely held in place.

"You know what I'll do if this happens, don't you? We talked about it?" His voice was almost gentle again, but she just nodded, wishing she could reach out and cup his face. "Tell me, then. So I know you're sure."

"You said that you wouldn't wear a condom if we did this." She said, her voice small. "You said that I'm your mate, and that as your mate, I have a... responsibility."

"Which is?" He sounded impatient, and Allison told herself it was part of the act.

"... I have a responsibility to be bred by you." She felt his hand stroke her thigh in approval.

"This could hurt, Ali." His act slipped, replaced by concern, and after stroking her entrance, he thrust inside her. Allison tensed up, kissing desperately when she felt his lips pressing against her. It wasn't long before she felt Scott's knot pushing against her walls, and his thrusts became tighter, and more determined. Panic filled her at the idea that it wouldn't come out, but the idea of it quickly turned into pleasure, pushing her into her orgasm, though her body didn't get relief as Scott continued to thrust, causing her to be hit by a second and third orgasm, straight after the first. She pulled her head away from him, gritting her teeth as she wasn't sure how much more she could take, but the last contstricting of her walls was enough for Scott to let out a gargled groan, and she felt his seed shooting inside her - it was a strange feeling, one she'd never experienced before as she'd always made sure he wore a condom.

Waiting for the knot to shrink, he lifted her blindfold, stroking her hair back.

"You sure you're okay?" He asked, looking at her tiredly. She nodded, and he stroked her cheek. "I wasn't too rough? Too bossy? Too--"

"Scott, stop it, you were perfect." It was a few more minutes before the knot shrunk, and Scott pulled out, releasing her arms and legs.

"So... You think...." He began. Smiling, Allison walked over to her drawer. Now she was done with high school, having taken her final test that morning, it was empty of all her textbooks. Instead, she waved a pregnancy test at Scott, and shrugged.

"I guess give it a few more weeks, and we'll know."

* * *

15.

When Stiles opens the door to his room, there’s a small potted plant sitting by his computer desk. Stiles picks up the card tucked against the pot and reads, _Enjoy, D_.

“So, what’s so special about you, little guy? No flowers or smell,” Stiles comments while playing with the funny shaped leaves. A quick search on the internet doesn’t help him, so he makes a mental note to ask Derek about it.

***

Stiles likes to think that he’s developed this sixth sense for danger. He snaps awake and realises that he’s dangling in mid-air with tendrils wrapped around his waist and all limbs. He tests the strength of the tendrils around his wrist, but the plant has a firm grip on him. “Is this about me calling you ‘little guy’? You’re definitely not little. Not little at all.”

It’s then he notices the tendril sneaking up the left leg of his boxers. “This is very quickly turning into bad touch category! Oh god, what did I do to deserve being felt up by a plant, of all things?” he cries.

There’s a tendril wrapped around his shaft like a sheath. The plant’s pulsating and it doesn’t take long before Stiles’ hard cock is tenting his boxers.

“Fuck,” he pants. “If this is a one of Derek’s pranks, I’m going to kill him myself. Boyfriend or not!”

His window clicks open and a dark figure climbs inside, only to pause at the sight of Stiles and the endless mass of vines. “Stiles?”

“Oh, thank the fuck you’re here, Derek,” Stiles’ sentence is cut short as a tendril slips into his ass and nudges against his prostate.

Derek just stands there taking in the sight and smell of Stiles’ arousal.

“It won’t stop shoving these stupid vines into my ass,” pants Stiles.

Derek steps closer and asks, “It’s not hurting you, is it?”

“No, ngggh, but it doesn’t make it less weird!” replies Stiles.

Derek unsheathes his claws and slices Stiles’ boxers. There’s a rush of cold air and Stiles’ cock pops free of its confines. Stiles’ cock wet at the tip and dripping pre-cum.

“Not helping!” exclaims Stiles.

Derek spreads Stiles’ cheeks to get a closer look and comments, “Your hole’s all puffy and stretched out. I can see all the way inside of you.” He reaches for vine that seems slightly thicker than the others and guides it towards Stiles’ ass.

Stiles squirms as the thicker vine starts to push inside, “Oh god!”

“There must be more than ten of these things inside of you. You love it, Stiles. You’re practically dripping,” whispers Derek.

It’s only then that Stiles notices the vine getting bigger. “Whaa?”

“Shhh, let it do its thing,” replies Derek. There are bulges traveling down the vine into Stiles’ ass. The seeds will deposit themselves inside Stiles to incubate and mature. “You’re doing so well, Stiles. So beautiful and full.”

When the last seed has been deposited, Stiles wiggles and struggles against his bonds. “Please, Derek,” he whines. Derek gets on his knees in front of Stiles and uses his claws to clip the tendril that’s wrapped itself around Stiles’ cock. He takes a breath and swallows Stiles’ cock to the root. Stiles screams his orgasm and pours himself down Derek’s throat.

It doesn’t take very long to get Stiles untangled from the plant. Derek guides Stiles into bed and proceeds to rub his belly.

“It feels like someone shoved golf balls up my ass.”

Derek lets out a puff of air against Stiles’ neck where he’s nuzzling, “You’re incubating the seeds.”

“Wait, the plant is using me as an incubator? Better yet, how on earth are they going to come out? Oh god, don’t tell me. I’m going to have to push them out. Of my ass. Like an ass-baby. How is this my life?” he groans.

“Deaton said the seeds are very powerful,” states Derek.

“Of course they are. The doc and I are going to have a talk about what he’s allowed and not allowed to give to my boyfriend,” says Stiles.

“You liked it, though,” Derek remarks.

“You’re lucky I’m a kinky kind of guy,” grumbles Stiles.

* * *

16.

It's never easy between them, never soft or gentle or sweet; the bonds of family and pack a twisted, angry tangle, sharp and biting like a claw at the throat or an arrow to the heart. They pull at each other, prod at their tender places, and fuck. When Allison is in town from college, when friends or hunter business call her back, they run each other to ground on neutral territory; an abandoned warehouse or a dark, empty parking lot, it doesn't matter. They don't need a bed and soft pillows: a wall will do or the hood of a car. Sometimes his claws will come out, and sometimes her knife.

It was a dark alley behind some seedy bar a few towns over last time. Allison's legs around Derek's waist like a vice, a gymnast's strength holding her up while Derek fucked her. She clawed up his back, welts under her nails gone within seconds, and bit at his jaw. Derek let her, hoisting her higher and pulling her down hard against his cock. They never kissed.

This time, two months later, they meet in a dilapidated house on the edge of town. She bends over the top of an old dining table, hands curled around the edge for leverage, and Derek pushes up her skirt with rough hands. She widens her stance and arches her back, exposing herself. She's lost her panties on the way in. "Come on," she urges. "Fuck me."

He rolls on the condom and pushes his fingers into her, slicking his cock with the wetness of her cunt. He goes back for more, smearing her juices over her hole, pushing his fingers inside until she is loose and sloppy everywhere. He fucks her ass with short, sharp snaps of his hips, spreading her cheeks apart with broad palms, cramming another inch of his dick in her ass, making her clench and groan and shudder with it. "Harder," she demands between harsh, gasping breaths. "Fuck me, come on, do it."

He grunts with the effort, sweat running down his temple and gathering in the small of his back. He brings one hand around her waist and pushes two fingers into her cunt. She grinds down on him, getting herself off, delicious friction against her clit and his cock deep in her ass, the hot, dragging pressure making her moan and pant. She comes with a shout that echoes in the empty space, breath pushed out of her lungs by the force of his thrusts. Hot pulses of pleasure sizzle along her nerve endings as her body seizes and shakes apart. He comes in the aftermath, perfectly silent, body bowed over her back and face clenched tight as if in pain.

They don't speak, not before and not after. Derek zips up his jeans and is gone before Allison fully gets her breath back. She straightens her skirt and puts her panties back on with unhurried hands. She is drenched in sweat, the inside of her thighs slick and sticky. She feels lighter in the aftermath, high on adrenaline and endorphins.

They cannot escape each other, caught in each other's orbit, tied together by family and pack and history, but they can have this. It's not gentle or soft or sweet, but it is something, it is theirs alone.

* * *

17.

**Greenhouse Effect**

The moon was high in the sky when Derek's phone rang. He reached for it blindly but upon answering, all he heard was familiar laughter.

"It's two in the morning, Stiles. Come to bed," Derek mumbled, half asleep.

"Derek, I need—ah! I think you—oh!" Whatever Stiles was trying to say was cut off by a low moan.

Suddenly alert, Derek clutched the phone in his fist. "What's wrong? Stiles?"

"Nothing's wrong. But I—" Stiles gasped. "I'm fine. Just get down here."

Despite Stiles' reassurances, Derek threw back the covers, pulled on a pair of shorts and quickly made his way across the property to the greenhouse by the lake.

He'd built the greenhouse as a graduation gift for Stiles, who surprised everyone when he chose to pursue a graduate degree in Botany. Three years later, it was the place Derek could usually find Stiles if he wasn't in the house, even in the middle of the night.

The moon painted the greenhouse with a faint blue-grey hue and Derek sensed a hum of something electric in the atmosphere. He expected to see Stiles bent over his garden table, nose smudged with dirt, talking to his favorite plants or poring over one of the volumes Deaton had given him upon retirement. Instead, Stiles stood in front of a massive plant with thick tentacle-like vines and long leafy stems, gasping and giggling like he was losing an intense tickle fight.

He didn't look like he was in pain but Derek approached him cautiously. "Stiles? What's going on?"

"It worked!" Stiles said, raising his arms in victory. A brilliant smile lit up his face when tiny leaf shoots curled around his wrists. "I did it. I'm _doing_ it. Look!"

"What—" A long tendril twisted around Stiles' forearm, traveling over his elbow and under his sleeve. Derek's mouth dropped open in amazement. "How?"

"I've been working on this for a while but nothing ever happened." Stiles shrugged helplessly. "Then I remembered reading something about the eve of the full moon in one of Deaton's journals, so I came down here to try it out. I just _believed_ I could make it move, and it worked."

"Can I—" Derek stepped closer, reaching out to run a fingertip along the delicate leaves, watching them curl around his knuckle and tickle his palm. Several stems slid around his wrists, tightening their grip and pulling him backwards to where the tangle of vines was much more dense until his bare back made contact with the cool, damp core of the plant.

Stiles shuddered, excitement coloring his cheeks. "I can feel it touching you."

Derek's breath hitched when a thick, green strand wrapped itself around his waist, holding him in place. He pulled against it, surprised by how tightly he was being held, and a rush of heat flooded his body. The familiar scent of their combined arousal hung heavy in the air.

"What does it feel like?"

"Like I have a thousand fingers," Stiles said, pulling his hardening cock from his pants. "Like I'm strong enough to hold you there while they touch you all at once."

Derek gasped as the plant trailed over his shoulders and down his chest, teasing his nipples, sliding down over his stomach. Several stems tickled his toes, then crept up his legs, tracing each curve of muscle.

"Fuck. Please say this is okay."

"Yeah, Stiles," Derek said, breathless. "Whatever you want."

The plant's response was immediate.

Tendrils tangled in Derek's hair, sliding down over his cheeks and lips. They tasted sweet, pure, when Derek opened his mouth to suck on them greedily. Thicker tentacles slipped under Derek's shorts, one coiling around his cock, another sliding back behind his balls, its delicate tip teasing the rim of his ass. It was cool, slick, seeming to draw moisture from its roots to ease the way.

"C'mon. Do it."

The tentacle breached him, filling him up, pulsing in time with Stiles' thrusts into his fist. Derek groaned as the pressure around his cock began to build.

"Gonna make you come," Stiles gasped.

The tip of a leaf dipped into the slit of his cock and Derek surrendered to the push-pull of Stiles' will, letting his restraints hold him up as he shuddered through his release. The tentacle inside him swelled when Stiles came, flooding him with wetness, then slowly slipping out.

"That was incredible," Stiles said, collapsing against his chest.

Derek hummed in agreement, too wrung out to speak.

* * *

18.

“I can’t do this.” Scott scowled down at where Derek sprawled bare-chested on the bed, eyes like a deer caught in headlights, ready to bolt any second. “No fucking way. I’m sorry, I just … can’t.” He started to back off the mattress.

“Scott, man, you promised!” Stiles begged. “I stuck it out with Allison! And that was some seriously freaked shit.” He struggled against Scott for a moment. “We made a deal, bro – if you get some action, then your buddy Stiles gets some too – it’s only fair.”

“Yes, well who caused this mess in the first place?” Scott spat out. “Brilliant idea, Stiles – a teleportation spell? Seriously?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Stiles had surprised everyone, including himself. “I teleported us away from that rabid tentacle thingy. I fucking ROCK, man. I’m the next Willow!”

“Stiles, you moved us a whole three feet.”

“It got us out of range! We’d be lunch, now, if I hadn’t…”

“This is worse than lunch!”

“ENOUGH!” Derek glared between them, then rolled toward the edge of the bed. “I should never have let you talk me into this, Stiles. It’s a fucking freak show. Call me when you’re back to normal.”

“Derek, wait!” A hand caught Derek’s wrist, pulling him back – the same hand that had held him, touched him for months now. Same long crooked fingers, bitten nails, moles and all. “It’s still me, Derek. I still love you, still need you. This…” He indicated his misshapen body, “It’s just temporary. I’ll fix it, I swear – but I’m just fucking lost without you, man.” Stiles eyes showed uncharacteristic vulnerability. “We don’t have to do anything. I just – I need your support.”

Derek sat up slowly, scowl melting into reluctant sympathy. He ran a hand over the back of Stiles’ head. “I know. I’m sorry – come’ere.“ He leaned in and kissed him gently.

Stiles lost himself in the comfort, until Scott cleared his throat loudly. “Um, guys?”

“Argh – fucking Scott…“ Stiles buried his face in Derek’s shoulder, pulling Scott with him into the embrace.

From Stiles’ slight waist, a stockier torso rose to shoulders stretched abnormally wide, on which Scott’s head sat displaced slightly to the right, while Stiles’ head protruded from the front of their left shoulder. Scott’s tanned arm supported them, while Stiles’ own pale arm curled around Derek’s wrist. Two arms, two legs, but in one chest beat two strong hearts, and Derek beheld two earnest faces, two vastly different personalities warring for control of a single body.

It took a week after Stiles’ spell went awry to learn how to function in their merged body. Eating, reading, and writing were easy (Stiles had always been ambidextrous), with each controlling motor functions of his respective side, but tasks like walking or moving around were ridiculously complex. Driving required an elaborate choreography of co-ordination which couldn’t possibly be safe.

It wasn’t just functionality, but also the social aspects of living with his best friend – calling it “close quarters” was beyond an understatement. Every impulse, every action had to be consulted and shared, from making a sandwich, to co-ordinated texting, to toileting and personal hygiene. They fell asleep at night to not just the SOUND of each other’s breathing, but to the FEELING of lungs rising and falling, hearts beating in unison. The embarrassment of Scott feeling his body’s reaction to his most intimate thoughts…

“Look, I can fix this. It’s only another week until the new moon, we can reverse the conditions. This isn’t forever, Scott, I promise. But… I understood when you needed Allison. I got it, you know?” They’d fix this – he knew they would. They HAD to. “This is scary for me, too. I’m terrified. And while you may never understand it, Derek is *my* comfort zone. He’s where I feel safe.”

Derek had a look like too much emotion was giving him pain. He tugged Stiles down on the bed. “Come’ere. This is weird as fuck, but I’ve got you. Welcome to our sex life, Scott!” he added, dryly.

“All right!” Stiles crowed, while his counterpart groaned. Working together, they yanked their t-shirt off over both their heads, and unzipped their jeans, easing the denim down over their hips.

The look on Derek’s face was priceless.

“Holy fuck. Is that…”

“I know, right?” Stiles giggled gleefully, kicking the jeans off and crawling in between Derek’s knees.

“You have two… holy FUCK.”

Scott sighed. “That’s what Allison said.” He resigned himself to a long evening of experimentation.


	6. Group B (Without Warnings)

19.

Another cock slides into him, and Stiles lets out a shuddering breath.

“Derek,” he groans. “ _Derek._

The cock inside of him is thrusting harder, rougher, and Stiles can only grip the edge of the rock he’s bent over and take it.

Derek strokes a finger down the side of his face. “Do you feel good?”

Stiles giggles, because the cock feels so damn perfect. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m good.”

*****

_“Are you serious?”_

_“Yes, Stiles, I’m serious.” Derek sounds exasperated, but Stiles doesn’t care, because there’s the whole thing where werewolves sign peace treaties with one giant gangbang._

_“So, they all fuck me?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“They come in me?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And that’s the binding contract?”_

_Derek shifts. “Not exactly. There’s something else.”_

*****

There’s another gush of warmth as the werewolf inside him comes, and Stiles whines, because his cock is thick and heavy between his legs and he was _close_.

“Derek, please.” His fingers scrabble at the rock.

Derek lays his hand over Stiles, stilling him. “Hush. There’s more.”

Another cock slides in deep. There’s no resistance. Stiles is loose, and his hole greedily sucks up every cock the rival werewolf pack has to offer. He feels raw and used.

“You,” Stiles gasps. “I want you.”

“Later. You know I have to be last.”

*****

_“Are you okay with this?” Derek asks. “I know it’s a lot.”_

_“Am I the only option?”_

_Derek nods. “You’re my mate. It has to be you.”_

_Stiles nods. “Not gonna lie, it’s a little intimidating. But I can’t say something like this hasn’t featured heavily in a series of wet dreams I had when I was fourteen.”_

_Derek snorts and pulls him close. “I love you.”_

_“I love you, too.”_

*****

He’s being pounded into, the thrusts pushing his body further onto the rock until his toes can barely touch the ground. It’s harsh and rough, and he groans because this is exactly what he needs right now.

He feels the werewolf grip his shoulders to brace himself, and then he’s being fucked at an angle that hits his prostate. His toes curl and he keens.

“Holy fucking shit, Derek, I need you, I need to–”

His words are cut off by another series of hard thrusts, then the werewolf comes and Stiles wants to sob because he _really wants to come too_.

“You need what, Stiles? Another cock?”

“I need to come, jackass. God, I need to come.” He wants to cry, he’s so desperate for release.

“Not yet,” Derek says, beckoning another wolf forward.

*****

_Normally, they fuck. They both like it hard and frantic, with teeth and nails dragging along skin and leaving behind raised red marks._

_That night, the make love. It’s soft and gentle, and Stiles comes with a sigh._

*****

He’s so close that Derek has to grip the base of his cock to keep him from coming early.

“It’s almost time,” Derek says, softly. “I’ll mount you next.”

Stiles groans his relief as the wolf in him comes and wetness drips down his legs.

Derek stands and moves behind him. He feels fingers tracing the rim of his hole.

“You’re filthy,” Derek says. “You’re so open and _dripping_ with them all. I’m going to have to fuck you senseless back home to get their scent off you.”

Stiles nods frantically. “Yes, that’s good. That’s very good.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever been quite this hard.

Derek pushes into him without warning, and Stiles back arches. “Oh god, Derek. I want you, I kept wanting you, please, just fuck me…”

And Derek does, with hard, long thrusts, the kind he knows Stiles likes best, and it isn’t long before he feels it.

Derek is swelling at the base of his cock, and even though his hole is loose, Stiles can feel the resistance.

Holy shit, he’s going to be knotted.

Derek slams into him one more time, and the knot expands sealing the werewolves’ seed inside him. Stiles feels it when he starts to come, because Derek doesn’t stop coming, and his ass is so full that come is leaking out from around the knot.

The final act of the treaty – the knotting and sealing of the seed – has been completed.

“It’s done,” Derek grunts. Then he howls.

All the werewolves in the clearing join him.

Derek’s fist closes on Stiles’s cock, and it only takes a few strokes before finally, _finally_ Stiles is coming.

* * *

20.

It wasn't often that Stiles could surprise him, but this...yeah, this did.

Peter knew he was smiling too widely, and he didn't try to stop. Looking again at the intricate leather wristbands Stiles held, he didn't know what to say. He'd never expected...

"Dude, say something. Yes, no, though no would suck, but you're making me nervous with that weird smile. You're not going Joker on me are you?"

A laugh burst from him and Peter dropped to his knees, wrapped his arms around Stiles' waist and tugged him in so that his face was buried in his stomach.

Stiles giggled nervously and squirmed. "Um, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Peter murmured before nuzzled against Stiles' belly button, then dragged his nose lower, smelling the younger man's quick arousal. Letting his fangs slide free, he caught them in the waistband of his track pants and pulled them down his hips.

"Shit..."

"Take yourself out," Peter growled, rubbing his cheek against the bulge in the Looney Tunes boxer shorts, before pulling back enough to watch Stiles fumble and shove the shorts down just far enough to free his cock.

He was half-hard, thickening, and so beautiful, and Peter inhaled deeply, before sinking his nose into the crease between thigh and balls.

Stiles hissed and shuddered. "Is this a yes? Tell me this is a yes," he gasped out as one of Peter's hands wrapped around his dick and guided him into his mouth.

Rolling his eyes up at his lover, because his mouth was just a bit full, he wasn't surprised to see the awe and adoration on Stiles' face, and then the teenage's beautiful, long fingers were in his hair and his hips were pumping lightly. Peter sucked down the shaft to his fist wrapped around the base, then back up, tonguing the slit and the sensitive vein on the underside, before taking him in again.

"Fuck, you're so good at this."

Stiles was already shuddering and the tang of pre-cum smeared across Peter's tongue. He wasn't surprised. The teenager always came quickly the first time. One of the many benefits of his youth, though, was that he was ready to go again so very soon afterwards.

Peter wanted the next time to be with Stiles sprawled on their bed with Peter's dick pounding his ass.

The thought made him growl and Stiles shuddered even harder and pulled on Peter's hair, but he let him because that bit of dominance made his own cock ache. With his free hand he adjusted himself through his trousers, massaging his erection, while the other hand slid down to cup Stiles' heavy balls which made the young man groan loudly and buck into his mouth.

Pulling off, he started to pump him quickly and kept his eyes on the slick, reddened tip disappearing into his fist, while Stiles rocked on his heels, moaned, and held on with one hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder.

"Peter, shit, gonna...gonna...Shit!"

"Did you know that leather mating bands are often used as cock rings?"

"Fuck," Stiles hissed and came, spewing semen over Peter's face and making the older man smirk.

"Shall we try one on you while I fuck you into the mattress?"

"God...yes..." Stiles slumped, held up by Peter's arms again around his waist as he licked the tip of his softening cock clean.

"And, by the way, my darling boy, of course the answer is yes. I'll be your mate." Rising to his feet, he pulled Stiles into his embrace and a warm, loving kiss.

"Dude, you've got cum all over your face."

Peter chuckled and herded him to the bed, making sure he scooped up the two bands Stiles had dropped, because he hadn't been lying about their secondary use. In the ceremony before the Pack, they'd fasten them around each others wrists, but tonight, they'd share them in a much more intimate way.

.And the leather would always smell like them.

* * *

21.

“What’s on your mind, love?”

Peter turned his head to gaze at his husband and smiled, though it was a sad smile. He turned his gaze back to the window, watching the rain softly patter against the glass. He could feel his husbands arms wrap around him, blocking him in without constricting, a loving embrace meant to comfort.

Peter smirked, he really had gotten lucky when he courted and won the heart of this man, despite what everyone else liked to say.

“I’m thinking about the pack, what else?” He teased and leaned back, letting his head cuddle in the crook of his lover’s neck.

“Oh I don’t know…how about our anniversary?” John Stilinskiteased and mouthed softy at the tender flesh of the throat of his husband of three years.

Peter groaned out, “That’s next week love.”

“Nope. Next week is the anniversary of our mating and our wedding, tonight is our anniversary of the first time you chased me into the woods and we made love for the very first time, when you practically started courting me actually.”

Peter froze and thought about it. “…huh, your right.”

“When am I not?” John teased and used his teeth to mark the pale skin in front of him.

“How about last week when you actually thought your son was alone in his dorm room working on his midterms when in fact he was with my nephew, necking in his car like a bunch of teenagers.” Peter teased as his blood began to pump through his veins with desire.

John moaned but it wasn’t a moan of desire but of despair. “Honey, love of my life if you want to have any kind of contact tonight with me that includes our cocks you might not decide to mention my son having sex. Especially with your older and emotionally repressed nephew.”

Peter snickered, “Sorry.”

“No, your not.” John sighed, but fondly.

“No I’m not.” Peter agreed.

“Sooo…” John smirked and reached around to palm Peter’s growing erection.

“Yes, well I think we should retire then.” Peter stated quickly, already eager to get to the main event.

“Actually I’ve a bit of an idea that I’ve been wanting to try out.” John confessed, a wiry smile on his face.

“Oh?” Peter asked, the last time John had an idea it had turned into a four hour fest of orgasms. Lovely, wonderful, make you weak as a new born kitten orgasms.

“Yes…” John reached into his pocket and pulled out a long piece of rope, the rope itself was made of some kind of silk and was quite beautiful to look upon.

Peter didn’t have to guess whose hands those ropes would be binding.

“Oh love…” Peter smiles. “You love me so.”

They quickly made their way to their bedroom, where Peter was quick to undress while John kept his undershirt and pants on. He was twirling the piece of rope in his hands, it was quite a sight and Peter had to swallow many times to keep the level of saliva in his mouth from over spilling his lips.

Not that John wouldn’t like it, he’d probably lap it all up with his tongue if he saw Peter getting messy.

When John saw that Peter was undressed and waiting instruction he felt his own cock twitch in his pants, it never failed that Peter could make his heart beat fast and his cock rise. The werewolf was just that beautiful and wild.

“On your knees on the bed and place your hands on your ankles behind you.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at the unusually position it would undoubtable put him in but didn’t object, he was too excited to.

John got on the bed behind him and with gently but firm hands began to wrap the silk rope around Peter’s wrists and ankles, binding them together behind him, on a human it would without question be a very uncomfortable and possibly dangerous position if held long enough.

On a werewolf…well- Peter would recover.

When John was sure that Peter was secure enough he carefully moved up and reaching into his pant’s pocket took out a small jar of oil, the oil when touched to skin sent a tingling sensation that could quickly go from pleasant to agony. The right amount applied made the edge between pleasure and pain almost non-existent.

“Now my love…the real fun begins…” John promised and smirked at his husband’s hungry moan, it would be a fun few hours at the very least.

* * *

22.

Matt wakes to sunshine, barely, with his clothes still heavy with water and the sheets damp around him. Jackson is next to him, cuddling almost.

They've done this before. Mornings after nights. After that thing that Matt created came, and went, and left Jackson leaking blood into his sheets.

Jackson stirs, jerks away, but Matt has his fingers in Jackson's hair, so he doesn't jerk far at all. They always do this, today is no exception, the pull and no-give, and Jackson throwing a fucking tantrum before he goes easy eventually. Matt's had a steady cocksucker for weeks now, and steady killer. All pluses on his list of shit that needs to get done.

"Shh," he says, and tries not to think of the water, tries not to think of Allison and still does both with the way his clothes stick to his skin. He pulls Jackson in closer, nails scratching over his scalp. "Thanks," he says because now that he's thinking of it anyway, he might as well spell it out. "You know what to do."

He's not gay but when it's these kind of mornings and Jackson is in his bed and only needs a finger's width of convincing to get his mouth down to Matt's crotch, he can close his eyes and imagine tits, lipstick and pussy. Allison's pussy, maybe.

Jackson mouths at his damp crotch before he pulls Matt's trousers down, going so easy today, and gets his lips around Matt's cock, sucking it in still mostly soft and rolling it over his tongue. Matt's not used the mojo on him for this in weeks now. Jackson just goes like this, eyes closed and blissed out and pushing his crotch into the mattress like he gets off on it, too.

"We can show them all, you know," Matt says to no one in particular, certainly not to the thing between his legs that warms his cock just so. "I'm going to show them all. They're all going to suck my dick, and they won't be able to do anything about it."

He fucks Jackson's mouth as he gets harder, then forces his cock down Jackson's throat and holds Jackson's face right there, lips straining and eyes now open wide. "So now you're looking at me, hm?"

Jackson tries to pull off, fingers clenching on Matt's thighs. Panic in his eyes, and how Matt knows that feeling of having no air to breathe and struggling through it, of grasping for anything, but he doesn't let up, keeps his cock sweet and tight just there in Jackson's throat , wraps his hands around his neck for good measure and squeezes a bit until Jackson's eyes go teary and shoot through with blood vessels.

"Never gave a shit about me before, like all the other assholes. And now you're fucking looking at me." He holds Jackson's neck with both hands and fucks up into his mouth, relishing as Jackson chokes on his dick, snorts spit through his nose in an effort to get at air. Matt can feel his cock in Jackson's throat, just under his thumb and fingers as Jackson's throat works around him.

He only gets to inhale when Matt lets him up to suck at his own pace because for once this is Matt's call to make.

Jackson does, doesn't pull off, despite the tears and snot dripping from his face. Matt just adds come to it a few minutes later. Jackson doesn't let the cock slip from his mouth until Matt shoves him off, then just lays his face on Matt's hip, tears dripping to Matt's skin, sniffles. The rush diffuses into warmth in Matt's body, fingers still shaking as tugs at Jackson's hair.

Jackson will still taste the come hours later. Matt just knows he'll still taste it when he's standing in front of his locker in school, talking shit with the rest of them. They don't know that they have these mornings, that Jackson now goes down on him so fucking easy like he's just another desperate girl. He could have all of them, but for now he has Jackson and Jackson has him.

His clothes are dry now and Jackson is asleep again, nose and lips pressed to Matt's balls. This is as things should be, cuddling almost.

* * *

23.

"I'll do it," Stiles says finally, and when the rest of the pack erupt in protest, he holds up his hand. "It's fine. It's for the pack, right?"

"No one's making you--"

"I know, Scott. Look, I swear it's okay."

"I just wish--"

"It happened to you?" Stiles asks, slightly cheeky. "

"That it didn't have to happen at all," Scott tells him with a wrinkle of his nose. "If you need anything--"

"I'll let you know," Stiles promises.

He doesn't look back when he walks away.

He doesn't want them to see the grin he can no longer keep off his face.

***

"Could you have sounded less like a lamb to slaughter?" Derek asks as the door closes behind Stiles. He strings the words together with a combination of wheezes and gasps, body hunched over, arms and neck sheened in sweat and poisonous magic.

"Sorry," Stiles mutters, kneeling by Derek, his hand hovering over his shoulder. "It was easier than going through the whole 'yes, I'm dating the alpha' conversation on top of everything. You okay, Derek?"

"Do I look okay?"

"Fucking fairies, man, right?"

"Stiles--"

"It's fine," Stiles murmurs, resting his hand on Derek, who jerks back like he's been electrecuted. "Whoa--"

"This doesn't make _this_ okay," he bites out, pained and feeble and god, Stiles doesn't know what to say to that, not when this close, he can feel the ache shooting through his core, echoed in his being so loudly it might as well be his own.

"We don't have to if you don't want to." It hadn't occurred to him, in all his smug _haha, got you_ moment, that maybe the spell that had hit them both to bind them was no less a curse than if it had hit two strangers. He'd been far too pleased it hadn't hit Derek with anyone else, but with Derek like this--

"I always want to." Derek's skin is pale, a pallor that seemed to be caused by the spell affecting non-humans, because Stiles feels mostly fine. "Just on my terms. On our terms."

"We're already halfway there," Stiles tells him. "Can't tell me she ever intended to affect two people who actually wanted each other, right?"

Derek looks doubtful, but Stiles can see-- can _feel_ \-- the hesitant agreement there.

"Our terms, Derek, okay?"

Derek's eyes meet his-- there it is, again, that magic, that electricity (for a fleeting second Stiles hates that he doesn't know which it is, fairy-made or _them_ )-- and then he nods.

***

They start slow, tentative. Derek's too worried about forgetting his strength so Stiles takes the lead, holding him down while he straddles Derek's hips, cock half-hard beneath denim jeans and mouth pressed warm against Derek's lips. His chest aligns with Derek's almost perfectly, and he presses down to soak in the warmth of Derek's heat as the kiss turns hotter, Derek licking into his mouth and Stiles tugging at his lower lip with his teeth.

"Stiles."

"Mm?"

"Why do you still have clothes on?"

***

Derek's normally a gentle lover (he's too scared, too worried, too beast) but the spell must have rankled his will, because he sucks bruises into Stiles with fervor, lifts him around to reposition him with relative ease.

The roughness alone would have been enough to go straight to Stiles's cock, but then Derek's tongue is on his hole, lapping eagerly to loosen him, fingers thicker than Stiles had ever remembered stroking him open, and Stiles _moans_.

Guess he doesn't need more of that going to his cock, at this rate.

***

Um, no. Seriously. He doesn't need more of that going to his cock.

It's been god-knows-how-many hours since they started. Derek's fucked him with his tongue, his fingers, his cock. He's returned the favor, and his poor cock is weeping for having to make up for seventeen years of abstinence in the last few hours.

"Stiles?"

"M'okay." He winces as Derek's hand flutters to his dick. "Still too sensitive. Are you sure--"

"They're still downstairs. We still can't get out. And I'm still--"

"Yeah, me too." Stiles licks his lips, heady with the _want_ and weak with the _too much_. "Five minutes?"

"I'll give you fifteen."

"Thanks," Stiles says before he focuses on coming down from the high, on returning sensation to his cock, his ass.

Be careful what you wish for.

"Fucking fairies, man."

* * *

24.

Derek observed the unmated betas and humans, naked, and touching, always touching, from a distance. Stiles was in the centre of it all, spread out and shaking under the heavy hands of Boyd; the incessant sucking and licking of Isaac; the scratches along his back, his stomach, his thighs that were almost definitely Erica’s doing.

Boyd held him down at the hips with his forearm when he ducked his head to suck. He always dove straight in, Stiles realised, no hesitation or teasing needed. It was wet and hot and fuck Stiles wanted more. He could feel Boyd smiling around his cock and, in any other situation, he probably would have flipped him off. Hands, smaller and rougher, Erica’s, tugged on his balls, rolling and squeezing, and Stiles widened his stance and whimpered loudly.

“Fuck…that’s not fair,” Stiles complained his voice hoarse.

Erica laughed lowly. “All’s fair in love and fucking.”

Stiles would have retorted, really, but then Erica was rolling again and Isaac had straddled his lap and was positioning his cock on Stiles’ face. The tip rubbed against his lips, coating, and he licked at the mess eagerly, his tongue catching the slit every so often. Stiles’ eyes darted from the head to Isaac’s face, flushed cheeks, eyes blown with pleasure and he was biting down on his bottom lip, as if it was all he could do to control himself from thrusting forward. Stiles raised his hands to rest on Isaac’s hips, digging in sharply knowing that there wouldn’t be any marks left behind, and opened his mouth wide, wanting. Isaac whined and glanced at Derek for approval. The man grunted and the beta rocked forward urgently.

Isaac was so hard, pulsing and leaking steadily onto his tongue. Stiles sucked greedily, the movements uncoordinated and sloppy. Stiles felt Boyd swallow around him, and Erica’s tongue slid along the area between balls and cock, and he had to stop, gasping loudly. Isaac made a noise of objection, hand dropping to Stiles’ hair, encouraging him to continue. Stiles pressed his tongue to the underside of Isaac’s cock, swallowing around the head and the teen cursed. Boyd had pulled off, pushed his cock against Stiles’ and seemed to enjoy the slide of skin against skin. Erica bit down harshly on his inner thigh, laughing at the way his muscles jerked.

“Erica.”

Boyd’s hand paused. Stiles couldn’t see anything – only Isaac’s stomach and pubic hair that brushed his nose with each thrust – but he felt the moment the heat surrounded, sleek and slippery and consuming. His cock twitched and she clenched down around him, and she moaned loudly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Boyd moving and could imagine the way he pressed himself behind her, one hand on her breast and the other on her clit, rubbing, silently urging her orgasm forward. Her desperate noises were muffled, likely by lips.

“Stretch him.”

Stiles moaned, eyes fluttering shut, when his legs were pushed upwards, held up by Erica. The lube, when it was pressed against him made Stiles’ shiver, made him want to get away and try to get closer at the same time. Isaac petted his cheeks comfortingly. Stiles’ muscles strained and he took the fingers, loving the burn and the stretch and the coiling in his stomach.

The three betas seemed to cum at the same time. Erica started, her walls tightening around him as she cried out, coating him in her cum. Isaac was next, making wounded puppy noises before his cock twitched and Stiles was hit in the face with a hot spurt of cum. Of course, he didn’t complain and his tongue searched for it. Boyd was last, jerking himself off, Erica reaching shakily to help, and mark his scent across Stiles’ chest.

But Stiles was still hard, still on edge. He knew what was coming, it always did, but he couldn’t stop the displeased noises he made when the heat of the betas disappeared before it was replaced by something heavier, warmer. Derek. Stiles spread himself eagerly, hands reaching down to hold his legs open, although his strength was lacking. Derek’s eyes were red, burning and searing, sweeping greedily over his abused and cum covered body. He traced his cock along the seam of Stiles’ legs, the curve of his ass, just leaving a mess, before he finally thrust in.

It was hard and rough; pushing Stiles harshly along the floor and a cry broke passed his bruised lips. His grip loosened, Derek mumbled something he couldn’t hear, and then there were hands, lifting and spreading and holding, giving Derek the brace to fuck in as roughly as he wanted. Stiles would try to clench down, to keep the fullness, and that would only make it tighter when Derek pushed back in. Stiles’ cock was heavy and red on his stomach, leaking and in his own opinion, Stiles thought it looked a little sorry, as if it needed someone to take pity on its suffering. Oh fuck, why won’t anyone take pity?

When Stiles finally came, it was sudden, shouting, trembling, white vision and so hard it hurt. Derek howled above him, every bit the alpha, and Stiles would take the stretch of his knot with a contented sigh.

“You good?” Derek muttered out.

Stiles smacked his lips. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

* * *

25.

All through the hell that was high school (‘it’s a lot like living in a never ending episode of Buffy’, Stiles reasoned) their bonds break and shift. What seemed unbreakable between Scott and Allison shifted and changed, transmuted into something different. Jackson and Lydia seemed irreparable for awhile; but a few life or death situations and they were thick as thieves. Of course two things Stiles had figured would never, in a million years change did, his non-existent relationship with Lydia ( _score_ ) and the exclusivity of his relationship with Scott.

Which brought them to now, just after high school graduation. They’d taken off with a ‘fuck you’ to Derek and his totalitarian state approach to leadership, and decided to figure out what pack meant to them.

It was Jackson’s van, (‘We should call it the Pussy Wagon, you know from Kill Bill-- totally sweet.’ Lydia rolled her eyes while Scott grinned, that one where he knew Stiles was right but was keeping his mouth shut because Allison was dangerous. ‘No.’ She said, rounding out the word with pretty red lips) called the Mystery Machine, because they were five teens on a drive across the country. They even solved the supernatural drama that popped up around them like a badly timed haunted house.

Of course they had road side assistance so there hadn’t been any nights in haunted off the road houses—yet. So it wasn’t quite Scooby-Do, but Stiles was just waiting ‘And I’ve have gotten away with if it wasn’t for you kids and that damn dog’. Also Lydia was a lot hotter than Velma, and Allison was no one’s Daphne.

Lydia liked to paint her toe-nails and rest side-ways across Stiles lap while they drove. He was quite possibly developing a foot fetish. They stopped in the sticks and Jackson was quite possibly the most attractive man anyone had seen for miles; always meant they got to put him in his place later. Sometimes Allison would lean on him while he was pumping gas and she was snacking on peanuts, because the guy in the sports car was leering at her and it was easier than punching his face in.

Most of he liked the nights. Jackson and Lydia refused to bunk in any of the cheapest motels like normal travellers. He liked it because tonight Jackson was face down on the bed, making these little hungry sounds as he ate Lydia out, she had both hands in his hair pushing him down and grinding her pussy against his face as her mouth hung over and careless abandon, red hair falling over her shoulders.

Scott had his chin on his chest, digging his fingers into Jackson’s hips hard as he fucked him, forcing him up the bed with each snap of his hips. He’d come when Scott first shoved in, flushed-surprised like it didn’t get him off every time.

Stiles rubbed against Allison’s back lightly wet cock catching lightly, desperate for a little touch, he had both hands up her shirt, fingers tucked under her bra so he could reach the impossibly soft skin under her breasts, toy with her nipples while the others put on a hell of a show. He’d tried to kiss her neck the way Scott did but got a mouth full of her hair by accident and gave up on that.

She was getting herself off, almost silent except for the way she jerked and shook in his arms, toying with her clit.

On the bed Scott wasn’t going for porn star level stamina or gymnastics, he knew what worked and he was going for it, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he hunched over Jackson’s back, Lydia’s hand catching in his hair so they could kiss, Jackson squished between them and looking blissed out about it (Stiles couldn’t blame him, he was a second away from creaming all over Allison from a little rubbing and a whole lot of watching them fuck Jackson’s puny brains out. Also Allison had _great_ boobs.)

“Come on babe.” Lydia moaned against Scott’s mouth, smearing his chin with her lipstick.

Stiles moaned helplessly and Allison laughed, head thrown back against his shoulder and riding her own fingers to a shuddery orgasm. Scott came helplessly, making a filthy mess of Jackson’s lower back, as if they were in some kind of bad porno.

“It’s you and me.” Lydia smirked at him, petting Jackson’s hair absently as he pushed his wet face into her stomach.

“Score.” Stiles breathed.

* * *

26.

Stiles stretched his back up, angling his elbows so he wouldn’t slide across the table. Behind him, Boyd adjusted his grip on Stiles’ waist and ground his hips into the swell of Stiles’ ass. It was summertime, and warm, sweat dripped down his muscles and pooled at the base of his spine. The rest of the house was quiet, and Boyd was always silent, Stiles could hear his heartbeat tick in rhythm with the big clock in the hallway.

Boyd finished with a soft growl and bent low to nuzzle between Stiles’ shoulder blades before he pulled out and left for work. Twisting his head, Stiles found a warm puddle of sunlight beaming in through the widow and relaxed until he was a quivering heap of warm goo.

That’s where Erica found him at lunch. She ran her hands down his flanks and then pinched him sharply. Stiles yipped and jumped up, scowling at her while he rubbed the bright strawberry bruise plumping on his side. Erica laughed and tipped his head back for a kiss, licking his teeth and nipping his lip.

She put him back on the table, and pushed his knees apart, stepping in between. With one hand, she opened him again, rubbing up on the inside of his heat, and slipped her other hand down the front of her jeans. They gasped together, Stiles’ toes curling in pleasure.

Together, they cleaned the table and made lunch.

Stiles hadn’t wanted the bite, but he hadn’t wanted to die either.

Scott came home first, Stiles ducked his head and bumped his nose to Scott’s jaw. Scott hugged him close, laughing and lifted Stiles to wrap his legs around Scott’s waist. He leaned Stiles against the bathroom door and shucked his jeans around his knees. Stiles’ sweats bunched between them, trapping his dick against his thigh.

He couldn’t find it in him to care, not when Scott pushed straight between his ass and found his sweet spot. Stiles hooked his ankles behind Scott’s back and dug his fingers into Scott’s shoulders to hold on. Scott was always rougher than the others, but Stiles loved him for it too.

Afterwards, Scott licked the sweat from Stiles’ forehead and left him to nap on the couch.

Jackson woke him up by pressing his dick into Stiles’ sleep slack mouth. Stiles blinked the crusties out of his eyes and swirled his tongue. He angled his head so Jackson could thrust deep into his throat. He didn’t try anything special, kept his mouth wide and looked up through his eyelashes at Jackson’s electric blue eyes.

He rested his head in Lydia’s lap after dinner. Well after he spent half an hour licking and sucking her to pleasure. She scratched her nails along his scalp, pretending not to notice as he joyfully wiggled into the most comfortable position for Isaac to fuck him with long slow strokes.

Derek carried him up to their bed, and sat against the headboard while Stiles rode him slowly. His thighs trembled with the work of lifting his body, but Derek guided him and took some of the weight when he wanted Stiles to slow down. Stiles sighed, finally completed when Derek’s knot filled him and locked them together.

“Are you happy?” Derek asked, his eyes shadowed away from the nightlight burning orange in the corner.

“You’re my Alpha,” Stiles answered, curling onto Derek’s chest and counting their breaths.

Derek’s mouth twitched as he smoothed his thumb across Stiles’ eyebrow and around to his cheekbone. “I’m so sorry, Stiles,” he said, dropping his fingers to the scar on Stiles neck.

“For what?” Stiles shifted, pulling Derek’s hips with him so they could settle on their sides. He blinked over at the mirror on the closet, and saw his eyes blinking sleepily. They were a green so deep they were almost black. He thought maybe they hadn’t always been that color, but now he had the pack, and they took care of him.

That was all that mattered.

* * *

27.

“There has to be another way!”

“Scott’s right, you can't expect to bond Stiles to me without his consent,” Derek argued.

“Well, we have two other options. Another member of the pack bonds with Stiles,” Deaton paused looking at the other member of the pack to gauge their reactions.

“What's the other way?” Isaac asked caustically.

“The Coven was using a ritual to tie Stiles to them as a power source. Unfortunately, breaking the ritual, left Stiles leaking power. We could finish their ritual,” Focusing on Derek, “making Stiles a slave to the pack,”

“That's not even a choice,” Derek snapped back.

“He's my best friend, I’ll bond with him,” Scott dared anyone to argue.

The act didn't stop Derek though, “Are you willing to give up Allison? Or making your best friend a slave?”

Scott's paled at the thought, “But, why Derek?”

“Use your nose Scott! They have been together for months now,” Erica rolled her eyes

“Also, Derek, you don't have much time to decide. At the rate he’s draining his energy, Stiles will be dead in a few hours.”

“I'll do it,” _and hope Stiles won't hate him forever._

*!*

They were about to be mated in a vet's office. If Stiles was awake, Derek knew he'd joke about it.

The pair sat naked on the floor, Derek watching the pack setup the ritual, laying ivy and fern in a circle around them. Deaton determined the pack would stand in for a coven, chanting the spell needed to fix the magic with the mating bond.

“Ready Derek?”

Dipping two fingers into the rue and myrtle infused oil, Derek anointed Stiles with the runes needed to tie the two rituals together.

Stiles skins was smooth under his fingertips. The oil and candlelight, gave Stiles’s pale skin a heated glow. Brushing over the peak of a nipple caused a soft moan from the unconscious teen. Derek slowed in his work, drawing out reactions from Stiles. He could see a small flinch over his ticklish ribs, his lower abs covered in a light dusting of goose bumps.

Finishing the finial line on the last rune, _binding_ , Derek placed a light kiss right above Stiles's navel, breathing in deep the scent that Derek had come to mean so much to him over the past few months, a mixture of scents that reminded Derek of comfort, home and family.

Adjusting Stiles to give Derek access yet keep this moment as private as possible with the pack chanting around them, his fingers dipped back into the bowl. Derek took a deep breath, grounding himself for the next task.

_It's to save Stiles._

Circling Stiles pucker with his index finger, Derek watched Stiles for any sign of discomfort. Adding a little pressure, inserting the tip of his finger, Derek saw Stiles open his eyes for the first time since he was brought to the vet's office.

“Derek?” Stiles's voices came out as a questioned whisper.

“It's ok Stiles. We're trying to save you, I'm-”

“Shhh, Derek. It's. Okay.”

“But, Stiles I have to -”

Derek was cut off by Stiles slowing lifting one arm reaching out to him, interlinking his fingers with Derek’s.

“I trust you.”

Such a simple act to an outsider but to Derek, it was all he needed to steel his nerves. Stiles would understand, because Stiles knew Derek would do what is best for him.

With clasped hands, Derek opened Stiles to him, giving soft words of encouragement, like it was their first time.

When he entered Stiles, working himself down to the hilt, he kept eye contact with Stiles half-lidded eyes never wanting to break contact with him. Derek drowned out the sounds of chanting, all that mattered was Stiles's breath, his body, his hand still holding Derek's.

Pulling Stiles up to sit in his lap, Derek continued his rapid movement. Nuzzling the area he will mark Stiles, the last step to bind werewolf and witch.

Holding Stiles oiled chest close to him, Derek punctured Stiles neck, quick and painless as he could. Keeping him close, Derek thrust twice before emptying into Stiles.

The pull began instantly, just like his mother stories told. She would explain that the mate bond would connect two souls. The feeling was one that cannot be defined, but once you felt it, you wondered why you never noticed how empty you felt before. 

Cradling Stiles to his chest Derek knew his mother described it perfectly. They were complete, whole, safe.

And Together.

* * *

28.

She looks at the tapestry, its rich textures and colors. It’s one of the lovelier ones she’s seen. The threads are strong and bright, and so interwoven with another tapestry that it’s difficult to tell where one begins and the other ends.

Her sisters are preparing the scissors, but she’s not yet ready to call this work finished. The tapestry is filled with all the colors of happiness, joy, love, sadness, and pain. It glows with the golden thread of a certain spark. She touches one of the more vibrant, knotted threads and allows herself a quick peek.

The man to whom the tapestry belongs is in his mid-thirties. He’s naked as the day he was born, writhing on a bed of blue satin as the man whose tapestry is interwoven with his own moves with him, in and out; they lick and kiss and bite. They are possessive hands and undulating motion, and she feels something in her chest warm as she listens to them gasp and moan.

They’re beautiful together.

She touches another thread and the scene changes to when the man is in his teens. He’s shouting at the same man whose not yet his partner. She watches his arms flail and his face purple as he yells, half-hysterical. He yells and flails until he becomes a flash of motion then smashes his lips against the other man’s frowning mouth. It’s their first kiss and her pulse quickens as the threads of their tapestries slide together in symmetry with their tongues. She savors the shock of surprise on both of their faces when they realize what they’ve done. She feels like time stands still for a fraction of a second before they both ignite and come together, binding their tapestries forever without even realizing the consequences of their actions.

The next scene reveals the two men in their twenties, necking like teenagers, in the front seat of a shiny black car right before a giant hulking mass flies out of the dark and into the side of their car, shoving it off the cliff. The man’s partner is a living shield as he wraps his body around him, protecting him from the fall. They stumble from the wrecked car shaking and alive, clutching each other to reassure them of the other’s presence. She watches in fascination as the man’s partner’s face morphs into something animal before he runs off in chase, heedless of the begging and pleading for him not to go. The man slumps against a nearby tree and her chest tightens as she watches him fight tears.

She chooses a thread closer toward the bottom and watches the man, in his sixties here, sitting on a deck and nursing a mug of coffee. His hair is faded into mostly grays, but his body still carries that wiry strength of his youth. He watches fondly as a gaggle of children chase each other around his house under the guise of a game of tag. His friends join him shortly, and she watches as his body moves like a magnet to shift closer to his partner. The threads on each of their tapestries spiral around each other so thoroughly now that it’s difficult to see that there are two different threads.

At seventy, the man and his partner move together as one, sweating and shaking as both cry out their climax. They settle ensconced in the other with whispers of love and affection on their breath, happy and at peace.

She looks at him as he is now. His body has diminished with age and sickness, and his skin has taken on the translucent sheen of white that hasn’t seen the sun in months. His partner, still strong and vibrant even in his nineties, is careful with him even in sleep. He knows, as werewolves and lovers often do, that his partner’s remaining time is short. The partner’s refusal to let go tugs at her soul; she never stops being surprised at the depth of werewolves’ emotions or their capacity for love.

It’s not the werewolf’s time to go but sometimes exceptions can be made. His tapestry has suffered enough pain and loss. She plucks both of their threads together and looks towards her sisters, challenging them to stop her. She can’t explain why she feels drawn to this couple but in her eternity of professional voyeurism and crafting of fate she’s rarely seen a love like theirs.

She snips their threads and ties off their tapestries together.

* * *

29.

There was a warm hand on her hip and happiness radiated through her as she woke up. She could hear his heartbeat against her back and his lips smiled against her skin.

“Morning.” Boyd whispered his breath hot against her ear. She felt him shift, turning her till she was laying flat on her back and he was balancing above her. She let her hands brush against his sides, enjoying the way his skin rippled as she touched him. The blanket was wrapped around him, creating a little cocoon just for the two of them.

“Morning,” she answered back her voice still husky from sleep. He grinned and it made her catch her breath, sometimes it still started her how beautiful he was. He was hers. He leaned forward to press a kiss to her neck before ducking under the covers and she couldn’t keep back a laugh at his enthusiasm.

That laugh quickly turned into a moan as she felt him nip against the inside of her thigh and she spread her legs so he could settle between them. His mouth was hot as he moved his tongue made a path up her thigh and into her. His arms held her hips up and he teased her. She threw her head back and her claws dug at the sheets. She was getting wet and there was nothing she loved more than his mouth in the morning.

He knew it to because she could feel the pleasure thrumming to him to her as he brought her to the edge.

She didn’t tumble over though, something tugging away her attention and she gasped. Boyd stilled against her and she felt the hunger and fear race through her body. It wasn’t hers though, and it wasn’t his. She has long since learned how to separate theirs.

They pulled apart and Erica quickly pulled on clothes, barely nothing as Boyd did the same. He was the warmth against her back as they left their room and raced down the hallway.

A door opened behind them and they stopped, Isaac’s hair was ruffled from sleep and his nose was wrinkled as he stared at them. “You guys reek like sex, it’s gross.”

Erica still felt the pull towards the end of the hall, and it was obvious Boyd and Isaac did as well from the way their bodies shifted. Still, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to smirk and tell him “Not my fault you’re not getting laid.” She let her fingers lace with Boyd’s, completely comfortable in his presence and her own skin now. It hadn’t always been that way. When they were still new she had been afraid to touch him in front of the others, afraid to let her eyes linger on him. She’d lost track of the number of times she’d showered just so the rest of the pack wouldn’t smell him on her.

She’d stopped caring so much long before he’d put a ring on her finger. She’d stopped caring around the time the Alpha’s had dug into their skin and made them scream while the other had watched, when they had just started feeling what each other felt.

Isaac just wrinkled his nose again and shook his head retreating back into his room, muttering as he closed the door “I really need to get my own place, maybe then I can get some sleep.”

Erica felt Boyd laugh before she heard him, some of the panic draining from their bodies and she pulled him towards the end of the hall. It always took them a moment to readjust, to remember that this feeling didn’t mean they needed to be alert.

Erica pushed open the door and they both stopped at the sight in front of them.

Derek’s held a dark skinned infant against his bare chest. He glanced up his eyes softer than normal “He’s hungry.” It still amazed her that Derek would know that before any of them. He said it was because he was the Alpha. He had reassured her that he didn’t mind.

Erica held out her arms and Derek settled the baby in them. He turned to her and she felt him calm, feeling Boyd and Derek relax around her feeling the same thing. Baring her breast she feed her child staring down at him in wonder. Boyd was the warmth against her back and Derek was a steadying feeling in front of her. This was her pack.

* * *

30.

The wolf still remembered a time when the moon was about pack and unity.

He remembered being a young pup and wrestling with his siblings until Mother Alpha decided that it was time for all good wolf-pups to sleep. The feeling of safety and love that came with those memories – the way they all piled together to sleep, unable to do it on their own – still brings an ache to his heart.

The moon hadn’t been about pack since the night those memories burned to the ground. He only had his mate now.

They had a pack again for the first time since the family died but the wolf had little interest under the light of the moon. His human spent enough time – too much time – concerning himself with the pack while denying himself the one thing that neither of them can live without. The wolf, as always, looked after their needs.

The moon became about this; about the hunt, the claim.

His pack surrounded him in the woods when the moon rose and he surfaced but he paid them no attention. They didn’t try to stop him when he broke away, tracking the elusive scent of his mate.

It didn’t take him long to find who he was looking for – it rarely did – and the wolf rumbled in satisfaction when he entered a clearing near his human’s home dwelling and finally set eyes on his mate. Laid bare on a blanket, smelling of arousal, his mate waited patiently for him to arrive like he did every full moon.

It was only when he was poised over his mate, settling down against him to feel their skin slide together, that he remembered his human was still wearing clothes when the moon rose. He growled and snapped, suddenly angry, but his mate touched a hand to face immediately while the other dipped between them to remove the clothing.

“It’s alright.” His mate soothed. “It’s alright, I’ve got it.”

The shirt was removed first and then both hands slid down his bare torso, unbuttoning the pants and shoving them down. It took some maneuvering before they were finally off. His mate settled back on the ground, pulling him down as well. There was nothing but skin this time and the wolf rumbled, pleased, as he moved against his mate. he His head dropped down to where a bite mark was visible on his mate’s shoulder, a claim that he made their first time and that his human fought against ever since.

A hand wriggled between them again but this time it wrapped around his cock, cold and slick. His pushed forward as he bit at his claim mark.

“I know,” his mate whispered. He nuzzled at the wolf’s cheek. “I know what you need.”

Arching, he guided the wolf forward until his cock pressed slowly inside. His mate’s encouraging sounds and the feeling of tight heat around him was enough to make the wolf lose what little control he had.

Their coupling was rough and frantic, the way it is every full moon. His human denied them both this vital pleasure, this claim on their mate, until the moon when they couldn’t resist the call any longer. It was the basest instinct of them all but they were only allowed this one night to indulge in it; this one night when, in the morning, his human could blame it on wolf instinct and the full moon.

Heat pooled in his belly too quickly but he pressed in deep and groaned, swelling inside his mate. Beneath him, it took only that and a few strokes of his own hand before his mate is spilled as well, his body tightening around the knot. They settled against each other, hands roaming slowly over sweat-slick skin as their hearts calmed.

The night continued on in much the same way. They waited for his knot to lessen and then the wolf claimed his mate again and again until they were sated and tired. They fell asleep in the clearing wrapped up in one another, knowing that in the morning they would part and it would be like the night never happened. Like the Alpha of Beacon Hills had no mate and the only things tying them together were blood and grief.

* * *

31.

Derek's eyes are closed, his head thrown back to display the gorgeous line of his neck. "More," he says, arm muscles straining as he pulls on the restraints tying him to the bed. His voice, usually so steady and alpha-like and similar bullshit, is cracking. "I need... faster..."

"Always so bossy," Stiles groans, biting down on the soft spot where Derek's neck meets the shoulder, then licking the spot. One hand is buried in Derek's sweat-damp hair, the other gripping Derek's hip hard enough to bruise.

"You love it when I'm bossy," Derek says instead, looking up at Stiles's from between his lashes, shuddering under him. His chest rises and falls with every breath.

It's true, Stiles does love it, Stiles loves all of it. Loves having Derek tied up and spread under him, loves how Derek fits around him, hot and perfect, loves how Derek whispers obscenities into his skin.

"Come on," Derek says, breathless and impatient, but Stiles is already running his hand over Derek's thigh, pushing up Derek's knees and hooking them over his own shoulders. The angle's better that way. With the next thrust, Derek screams.

Stiles's hips stutter. "Did it hurt?" he asks, watching his face carefully because Derek might be a big bad werewolf but he also has never been good at acknowledging his own limits.

Derek manages to glare at him, at the absurdity of the idea that Stiles could ever hurt him. "Don't stop," he moans. His hips jerk up, trying to match Stiles's movements. "Fuck, Stiles, don't you dare stop now. So close... fuck..."

Stiles feels close too but doesn't want to come, not just yet, wants to feel Derek come undone around him first. Because it's not something that happens very often. Not that Stiles is unhappy with their usual arrangement of handjobs and blowjobs and Derek fucking him into the mattress, but this is good too, this is great, Stiles wants to make the most of it.

Derek smacks Stiles's ass with the flat of his hand. "Stop talking and fuck me already," he says, and Stiles does. He fucks Derek in short, deep thrusts that leave them both breathless, until Derek isn't moaning any more, his fists are clenching and unclenching and tugging at leather restrains that won't give.

"I wish you could see yourself right now," Stiles says, fisting one hand into the sheets, almost choking on the words. "You look like a mess... total mess... the thought I'm the one who made you look like that, fuck, Derek... you have no idea what it does to me..."

Derek's cock is trapped between their bellies. Stiles shifts a little and takes Derek in hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts. It takes only a few touches to make Derek come. He goes over the edge with a muffled cry, spilling all over his body and Stiles's hand. Stiles feels Derek's muscles clench around him, and it's so tight and so good, so much that he might cry, it's even better than he thought.

It's his voice that does it for Stiles, though, Derek's voice mumbling his name, sounding utterly broken. He thrusts inside Derek one more time and comes, shaking and shuddering, with Derek's hands on the small of his back keeping him close.

It takes a great effort for Stiles not to fall over Derek when he stops twitching, but he does. He braces himself on his forearms and slides out of Derek, slowly, relishing Derek's little hisses as he does. Derek unhooks his legs from Stiles's shoulders and Stiles pulls him in for a kiss before untying the leather straps tying Derek's arms to the headboards.

Derek's wrists are a little red and sore, but they don't look too bad. Stiles helps him massage some life back into his fingers, not quite managing to keep a self-satisfied smile off his lips. "I win," he says. "I told you I could find a way to make magical werewolf-proof restraints."

Derek smirks and pulls him in for a kiss. "That's one bet I didn't mind losing," he says against Stiles's lips.

* * *

32.

Isaac starts shaking once Derek gets him into the shower.

Derek takes the brunt of the water until its scalding, and then he maneuvers Isaac under the spray. A couple seconds under and Isaac whimpers, presses his face against Derek's neck. "What did they do to me?"

It's hard to force the words out between chattering teeth. There's a chill beneath his skin, an empty echo that leaves him feeling scraped inside out. He thinks that what the witches had been trying to do, rip out everything that made him a person until they had only the wolf in human form. He can still catch traces of the syrupy stench of magic, but its fading beneath the strong clean scent of the water, and of Derek.

"In order to make you their familiar, they had to sever the pack bond." Derek's voice is a low rumble, a growl lurking beneath the words. Isaac stiffens, heart leaping in his throat. Derek curls a hand around the back of his neck, claws pricking at the soft skin. "They didn't succeed, but they did manage to do some damage."

Derek's hand flexes, the claws pressing deeper, and Isaac thinks about Derek crouched over him, muzzle dripping blood as he snarled at the rest of the soon to be dead witches. He arches his neck into it the claws, hands too tight where he's holding onto Derek's waist. "Can we fix it?"

There isn't an immediate answer, just the faint pop of the shampoo bottle and Derek's hands in his hair. Isaac tilts his head back, feels the bone deep chill starting to fade. He doesn't know if it's the water or the press of Derek's body, but he feels a little steadier.

"Time with the pack will put it back to normal."

"That's it?"

"No. Now rinse."

Huffing, Isaac tilts his head back beneath the water, reaching up to smooth his hair back against his scalp. Once he's sure his hair is relatively clean of soap he steps out from underneath the water. He's wiping the water out of his eyes when he's turned and pushed against the shower wall. It's not rough, but it's not gentle either, Derek's teeth scraping against the back of his shoulder.

"I can still smell them on you." He buries his face against Isaac's neck, his cock pressing up against his ass. There's a low growl and Derek's scent grows deeper, sharper, cutting through the clean scent of the water and shampoo. "You don't smell like you're mine anymore."

Isaac sucks in a breath, hands fisting against the shower wall. Derek is hot against his back, the sting of teeth at his shoulder making him burn. But the cold is still there, a hollow ache that pulls a whine out of him. "Derek."

"I felt it the moment they started the spell." There's the sharp press of teeth on the back of his shoulder before Derek pulls away. He's back before Isaac can protest, another small pop and the sharp scent of the body wash. Forehead resting against the shower wall, hot water pouring against his side, he spreads his legs for Derek's fingers. "I can still taste their blood on my tongue."

Isaac moans, the walls too slick to find any kind of purchase. "The spell. It tried to hollow me out." He can still feel the razor sharp chill as it sliced through him, as if something inside him had been set loose and was chewing through everything it could find.

There's a snarl behind him and the fingers disappear, another soft wheeze of the soap bottle as Derek squeezes out some more. It hurts when Derek finally pushes inside, the soap barely slicking the way, but the pain fits. Derek lays claim with bruises and angry, sharp thrusts, the low continuous growl bleeding through Derek's chest and into his back making his legs weak as his wolf tells him to offer his belly, his neck, everything.

The cold lingers, a ball of ice in his chest, until Derek wraps his hand around his cock and sinks his teeth into Isaac's shoulder at the same time. The last remnants of the spell snuff out like a candle in the breeze as his orgasm smashes through him, washed away by the heat of Derek's release and the sharp pain of his Alpha renewing his claim.

Derek doesn't pull out. Instead he holds Isaac against the wall and proceeds to clean the bite with his tongue.

* * *

33.

“A chore wheel?” Isaac exclaimed in dismay when Derek brought it up.

“Do we really need this?” Erica asked from the couch, her legs across Boyd’s lap.

“Apparently. Boyd is the only one who cleans the toilet, I’m the only one who scrubs the floors, Isaac calls dibs on dishes every night and you’ll only clean the living room if there’s something good on TV,” Derek replied, frustrated.

Erica shrugged. “It’s not my fault everything’s on hiatus.”

“This will keep everything fair. We share a house and a bed. This is going to work.”

That, apparently, was that.

*******

Until it wasn’t.

It took Derek a couple weeks to catch on. The dusting was done perfectly on the first try and all the laundry was folded the same day.

This was weird because Boyd was on dusting and Isaac on laundry, which both of them detested with a passion.

The more Derek watched for oddities in the chores the more he noticed them done _right >. Which wasn't right._

He should've let it go.

He's glad he didn't, though.

A month into the chore wheel Derek was walking past the room they all shared and heard Isaac moaning. It wasn't unusual for him to take matters into his own hands when he was by himself but if he needed contact he'd usually come to Derek.

The alpha moved quietly to the door that was cracked open and peeked in. On their super king Isaac was knelt in the centre while Erica crouched in front of him and sucked his cock. Isaac's head was titled back, eyes to the ceiling and turned gold while his claws rhythmically kneaded into Erica's scalp.

"Yeah, yeah," he groaned, hips starting to thrust, a sure sign he was getting ready to come. Erica reached between his legs, around his pants that were hastily shoved down and pulled his balls a little, sending a familiar spike through Isaac's body.

"Erica!" Isaac gasped and he came down her throat quickly, holding her head. Erica gagged a couple times but she dutifully swallowed all of him down. Derek knew she loved the taste of her mates, loved it when they forced it into her.

Without warning Isaac pushed Erica down and flipped her onto her stomach, ripping her tiny shorts down with one hand while the other went to her mouth for her to suck in his fingers.

Erica laved at Isaac's digits lovingly, getting them so wet she was drooling down her chin. Isaac pulled them out without warning and just as suddenly pushed two into her pussy.

"Fuck, Isaac!" Erica whined and pushed her hips against his hand. "More, please!" Isaac liked being in control, though, and he teased her with only two fingers while his other hand reached around and tickled over her clit without actually working it.

"Isaac, I swear to fucking god..." Erica tried to threaten but it came out more like a whine. It was enough, though, and Isaac finally thrust three fingers into her and started circling her clit with the pads of his fingers with his other hand, just the way they all knew she liked.

"Yes, yes, yes," Erica chanted, rocking back and forth.

From this angle Derek could see how slick she was, how Isaac's fingers came out glistening and sticky from her wetness.

The ensuite bathroom door opened suddenly and Boyd stepped through, totally naked. “Who wants to trade me for bathroom duty this week?”

Isaac’s hand stilled and Erica growled low, her eyes flashing. “Isaac!”

“I’ve taken her yardwork so you fuck Erica,” Isaac replied, pulling away from Erica’s body. Derek’s eyebrows shot up as he realized they were trading sexual favors for chores.

Those fuckers.

“I don’t care what I have to do, someone just put their hand, their fucking dick in me _now_ ” Erica bellowed.

Derek finally opened the door and stood in the entry way.

“Should have known it wasn’t working like it should,” Derek mused. Boyd and Isaac looked guilty, somewhat, but Erica just looked tortured.

“Please,” she begged. “Derek, fuck me.”

Derek shoved his pants down quickly, already hard and leaking. He kneeled behind her on the bed and pushed into her in one stroke, wrenching a stifled scream from his beta.

“Only if you do the grocery shopping this week.” Derek pulled out and in again, hard. “And the chore wheel stays.”

* * *

34.

Isaac’s limbs felt heavy with exhaustion and sore in a way that had everything to do with pushing his body too far in the name of progress. Humidity hung heavy in the depot and made the molasses thick air feel that much more unbearable against his sweat damp skin. Even the jersey basketball shorts he stole from Derek felt too heavy and hung low on his hips. The cotton sheet they threw over the haphazardly shoved together practice mats clung and slid uncomfortably across his skin.

Erica lay sprawled next to him, out like an overworked kitten, curled on her side, and desperately trying to get comfortable enough to get some sort of sleep. Tossing and turning restlessly clad only in the world’s tiniest pair of purple panties. It was a wonderfully distracting sight and Isaac had no doubt that was a conscious decision on her part. He only wished he were functional enough to properly enjoy them. They didn’t have a word yet for what they were, only that once it started they never questioned it and never once looked back. The three of them were pack and whatever else more was too important to risk breaking.

The quiet thunder of cement cracking echoed down to them. Derek always took Boyd on last and ran him ragged. They were strong, the three of them, but Boyd was his closest match when it came to sheer physical power and stamina. Their sparring sessions were a spectacle to behold and sex after had become a sort of tradition, though they’ve yet to find a word that properly described what they were to each other. Tonight though, he was just so _tired_...

Even when Boyd finally made his way over to them, prudently naked with his sex swinging full and heavy between his thighs, the most Isaac could manage was a small hurt sound for being too exhausted to put it in his mouth. He had a beautiful cock. Erica answered with a garbled, sleepy sounding snarl, and a half-hearted kick in the general direction of his shin. Boyd was chuckling as he carefully wedged himself between the two of them on the makeshift bed until they lay spooned together, backs to the wall and too hot to sleep.

Isaac smoothed a hand down his his side as if to ease the fatigue in his trembling muscles, pausing to savor the cut of his hip and then smooth swell of his ass. Squeezed it.

He gave a rumbling groan and Isaac couldn’t help but to grin and slide his hand forward, stroke his stomach and feel the muscles there flex. No one was up to anything, they never were after a proper training session, but he couldn’t help but want to _touch_... Erica’s breathing changed. He could feel Boyd’s forearm flex as he worked soft, slow, and intent circles between her legs. Isaac paused his stroking to just watch and listen as Boyd slid her underwear down, spit into his palm, and slicked himself before moving to fuck into her.

He cupped himself, feeling his cock jerk against his palm as Boyd pulled her close to his chest and began to thrust up into her in smooth, steady pushes. Isaac fell back and pulled himself out of his shorts groaning. The tip of his cock was wet with precum and he moved to snuggle against Boyd, wetting and nestling it between the plump cheeks of his ass. The friction there was steady, easy. It made him flush hot and work himself over with single-minded, desperate little pulls designed to get him off as quickly as possible. He panted against his back, felt the slightest bit of drool escape the corner of his mouth as he finally jerked and came, orgasm washing over him in thick, syrupy pulls that made him whine and bite.

Isaac lay there after, too tired to pull his shorts back up and feeling a bit like a broken doll cracked open with pleasure. Listened to Boyd moaning and panting into Erica’s nape as he came with something that felt suspiciously like contentment. Desire swirled easily under his skin, even as sleep finally crashed into him. It pulled him under as Erica’s harsh groans and the wet sound of Boyd working her over the edge with his fingers echoed like a lullaby in his ears.

* * *

35.

Derek fidgeted with the towel, running his fingers along the edge and brushing against Stiles' clean, damp skin. Momentarily bashful, he couldn't look Stiles in the eye when he asked, "Do you still want my knot?"

"Fuck yes," Stiles said with an incredulous laugh. "I thought you said you understood."

Stiles brought his hand to Derek's chin and tilted his face so they were nose to nose, looking into each other’s eyes. "I only want you. I know what mating means to you. I understand it's forever. I want that."

"God, I love you," Derek breathed, and then his mouth was on Stiles' again, their tongues tangling as they stumbled their way across the hall.

He'd been so determined not to trap Stiles in a relationship he might regret later, he didn't realize Stiles had already made his choice. Derek's need to mate now, to consummate, was fierce. He pushed Stiles onto the bed and grabbed the lube from the nightstand drawer.

He carefully worked Stiles open on his fingers. By the time he was sure Stiles could take the knot with minimal pain, Stiles was writhing and gasping on the bed, fingernails digging crescent shapes into Derek’s forearms. He wished those marks would stay forever, wished he could have an imprint of Stiles on his skin for everyone to see.

"Jesus _fuck_ , Derek. You have to fuck me now," Stiles begged.

Slowly, Derek eased his cock in. He paused when he was fully seated inside; he could hardly believe he'd been given this opportunity again.

"I almost lost you," he whispered into Stiles' mouth. "In so many ways. Never letting you go again."

"Works for me," Stiles replied, and wrapped his arms around Derek's back.

Derek moved slowly at first, withdrawing and pushing back in at a snail's pace, wanting only to savor every second of the experience of being with Stiles again. As Stiles began to sweat, Derek buried his nose in his neck, inhaling deep breaths of the scent he'd been without for far too long. It smelled like _mate_. He felt his knot start to grow and, this time, didn't suppress it. Rather, he buried himself inside Stiles and let go.

Stiles inhaled sharply; Derek heard his heart race, but Stiles didn't release his hold on him.

"Does it hurt?" Derek asked when he smelled the sharp tang of Stiles' pain.

"A little. But it's good. Don't stop," Stiles panted.

Derek's knot continued to swell; he rolled his hips so he was still moving, but no longer tried to thrust in and out. Using the precome pooled on his stomach to slick Stiles' cock, he stroked Stiles roughly, rubbing his thumb against his frenulum with every pass, trying to bring Stiles off quickly.

"Fuck, _yes_ ," Stiles whimpered into Derek's shoulder. "So good."

It didn't take long before Stiles came in warm bursts over his stomach and Derek's hand. His whole body stiffened, muscles clenching and releasing through his orgasm. Derek felt every little twitch right in his cock, surrounding his knot, and it was altogether too much. He came with a shout, and pressed his pelvis hard against Stiles' ass, pushing his knot as deep inside as humanly possible.

He rubbed his hand through the mess on Stiles' stomach before bringing it to his mouth and sucking the mixture of come and sweat off his fingers.

Stiles kissed him through his come-covered fingers. It was awkward and messy, but the taste and smell and feel of Stiles utterly _wrecked_ Derek, and he felt another wave of come leave him with a shiver.

"How is it?" Stiles asked quietly moments later.

Derek grunted.

Stiles' responding laughter shook them, jostling Derek's dick inside him and forcing another rush of come out of him.

"Jesus," Stiles said. "It's weird. I didn't think I'd be able to feel _everything_."

"Are you—" Derek started. "I mean, do you wish we hadn't...?"

"Seriously? Don't piss me off now. I will get up out of this bed."

Derek looked down where they were locked together, then back up at Stiles with an eyebrow raised in question.

"Okay, so maybe I won't get up. But I will be cranky. You won't like me when I'm cranky."

"I like you any way I can get you."

"Thank God for that. Because I'm pretty sure you can't get rid of me now."

Derek kissed him.

"Don't want to."

* * *

36.

The worst part about losing someone is the aftermath of silence. After all the rites and rituals are done and everyone has returned home, after the last lasagna is tossed into the trash and no one remains but the ghosts of memories and sorrow... That’s when the hard part begins. 

For Chris Argent, the endless days after (in his head, _The Endless Days After)_ loomed endlessly before him. He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear the silence limned by the pain of his daughter’s sobs beyond her closed door.

He couldn’t bear the being alone part, his life-bond to the woman he loved above all severed thanks to a fucking werewolf.

Carrying the curse of the werewolf to one’s grave was the worst, the death hunters feared the most. Victoria had done so with a grace he knew he would never have found. She would scoff at his melodrama, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d always been the more emotional, she the stronger. Stronger, braver, tougher, smarter... She was everything he was not, more of an Argent than he was.

A ghost of a smile flitted past his lips as he wandered into her study. His fingers trickled over her things. He’d pushed aside this month’s bills on her desk when he heard it, the faint tink of metal against metal. Curious, he pushed the papers aside, finding the source of the noise. A copper puzzle ring he’d given to her. He hadn’t known she still had it.

 _”You’re_ Argent Junior, right?”

Chris looked across the wash basin into the amused green eyes of a beautiful girl with flaming red hair. He gaped, snapping his mouth shut as she bent down, her breasts nearly tumbling out of her low-cut shirt as she washed the blood from her hands.

“No. I’m not... I’m Chris, but not a junior.” He finished washing and picked up his ring. It’d come undone but he quickly reformed it, aware of her scrutiny. 

She walked around the basin and grabbed his hand, her fingers rubbing suggestively across the ring. “This is pretty. A puzzle ring?”

“Yes. It was my mother’s.” He showed her how to solve it.

“Where did she get it? I’ve never seen one quite like it.” Her thigh rubbed against his.

“My father gave it to her.”

Her gaze drifted to his mouth. He licked his lips, unbearably conscious of her heat. He could smell her scent, overwhelmingly female mixed with the musty smell of the woods and the kill they’d left behind. A dab of blood marred her cheek. His cock throbbed in his jeans and his breath quickened; she smiled, ran one finger down his chest.

“What did she have to do to get it?” she whispered, then laughed at his widened eyes. “Help you clean up?”

He nodded. It was that moment he realized they were completely alone, all the others having left them, as the youngest hunters, to clean up. So when she pulled her shirt off, then his, and then their boots and their jeans followed, and she’d pulled him down onto the leaves and straddled him, engulfing him in her hot, tight pussy, he’d thought he’d died and gone to heaven for sure.

That was the first time she showed him she always knew what she was doing. Grabbing his hands she placed them on her breasts, encouraging him to pinch her nipples. She ground into him in response, canting her head back as she rode him, her weight pinning him deliciously down,

Her mouth covered his and he held her tight, his cock exploding into her just as she cried out in release. It was glorious, amazing, and as she collapsed on top of him, panting hard, his spent cock still slick and pulsing inside her, he heard her soft laughter in his ear.

“Did I earn it, then?”

“Yes.” Holding her tight and not giving a damn if someone came upon them now, he slid the ring off and onto her finger, their bonding complete.

“I’ll keep it forever,” she whispered. “’Til death us do part.”

And she had.

He slid the ring onto his finger. He would wear it, to remind him though his wife was gone forever, their bond could never truly be severed. “Thank you, Victoria.” He slipped out of the room to go tell his daughter a story she needed to hear. Most of it anyway.

Maybe now he could drop the ‘endless’ from _The Days After._


	7. Group C (Without Warnings)

37.

They've known they would be pack forever. Scott was always going to be the alpha, though. She and Stiles would be the claws and teeth to back him up. Scott just seems like the alpha type, watchful and caring underneath.

Allison should have known that everything would go wrong.

***

Her boys still keep her warm at night. She needs them now more than ever.

"Shh, we're here," Scott tells her, holding her tight as she cries.

Stiles doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to. He knows how it feels.

***

Allison doesn't know where Lydia's allegiances lie anymore. With the Hales and their crossbows, or the Argents' moon-running ways? When Allison passes by her in the halls, she smells slightly of wolfsbane.

"How could you even _think_ ," Lydia says, when Allison asks. "I've been _protecting_ you. After everything Peter Hale has done to me, all these bruises, you thought—"

"I didn't know," Allison says, trying not to sound as hollow as she feels.

"Of course you didn't know," Lydia says, bitter. "Did you ever pay attention?"

Allison's wolf doesn't whimper when Lydia walks away, as it might have once done. Instead, it growls.

***

She doesn't know how to handle it.

The moon is a thousand times stronger than it ever was before. She gasps under the gibbous, hand in her pajama bottoms, working furiously. She wants to howl, wants her boys beside her, inside her, anywhere. She bites her lips, but her teeth slice through.

This has never happened to her before.

***

"It'll be okay," Stiles says, furiously googling. "People deal with this. There are guides. Just because your mom didn't manage to teach you everything about alpha-hood before she—"

A growl forces its way out of Allison's throat, cutting him off.

He shouldn't have—her mom is _off-limits_. He, of all people, should know that. She is angry with him, wolf-angry, and the frozen way he is bent over his laptop says he knows it.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Get down," she growls.

"Allison, I—"

" _Down_ ," she snarls, nearly a roar.

His mouth gets him into trouble sometimes; she and Scott have been trying to train him out of it. It's a rule that she is more than happy to enforce right now: he shuts his mouth, or else uses it for something worthwhile.

She pins him to the floor with her thighs. Thankfully she's in a skirt—she accidentally shreds her panties trying to get them off.

"Sorry, sorry," he repeats, eyes golden and wide, before she shuts him up.

She rides his face harder than she ever has before. His tongue is clever, goes deep, but nothing scratches the itch inside her. It's _frustrating_ , more than anything.

"Don't jerk off," she says some time later. She hasn't come, so he isn't allowed to either.

He groans and rolls over, wiping the mess off his face. She'll smell it on him if he disobeys. Her new nose can easily tell the difference between an impossibly horny beta and the almost tangibly sexual smell of someone satisfied.

***

She's afraid of Scott, in a way. Everyone knows that two alphas can break a pack apart.

"Don't be like that," he says to her, when she admits this. "We're here for you, whatever happens. Two alphas, or no alphas. That's not going to change."

***

Lydia hasn't spoken to her since that day.

Maybe it's for the best. The wolfsbane scent around her is fading.

***

"I can't do this," Allison cries, eyes burning uncontrollably red as moonrise nears.

"You can," her father says. "You're the strongest person I know."

His eyes are clear and blue, and he bares his throat, easy.

***

She wasn't supposed to have a heat for years. But alphas—they're different animals entirely.

The boys fuck her in turns, sometimes together. Scott tries to kiss her mouth and hisses as she bites his lips bloody. She wants more, more. She's sweating, can't stop writhing, grinding down and milking them dry as they gasp underneath her. It lasts all night, and into the morning.

When the heat finally leaves her, she feels cool air against her skin.

She blinks, and her eyes return to normal.

***

Derek Hale is wary, but not hostile. They gas up their cars at opposite pumps.

She puts on her most impassive face. For him, she can pretend she doesn't hurt at all.

***

"We're your pack," Scott whispers, soothing the restless wolf inside her. "We're yours."

Stiles bumps her shoulder with his, smiling.

Their love presses into the bruises on her heart. She thinks, maybe, that it's a good kind of hurt.

Maybe she's on the mend.

* * *

38.

It's a cold draft that wakes Danny. He tries to blink his eyes open but the turkey and spiked egg nog work against him. Not that it matters. He knows the weight and the shape of the body behind him.

"Daaanny," Stiles sing-songs into Danny's ear.

Danny nuzzles into his pillow. "Separate bedrooms, Stiles. I distinctly remember your dad's orders: sleeping in separate bedrooms."

"We are!" Stiles squeaks in a hoarse whisper. "Technically, you were sleeping while I was in another room. Now, we're not. Sleeping."

Danny can't stop his chuckle, and he rolls over to be met by Stiles' knowing grin. He's wearing Danny's old lacrosse t-shirt, the one that's worn thin from washing and hangs loose on Stiles' narrower shoulders, exposing his collar bone, a glimpse of chest hair. Danny squirms closer and tucks his face into Stiles' neck, biting a kiss there.

"Your dad is the _sheriff_. He has _guns_ ," Danny protests. He betrays himself, though, mouthing at Stiles' collar bone, his shoulder, underneath Stiles' chin. Any soft place he can find.

Stiles lets out a shuddery breath, tangles his legs with Danny's, and whines a little. "It's a rite of passage, Danny. Having sex in your childhood bed when you're home for the holidays. We'd be going against the laws of god and man if we let this moment pass!"

He squirms out of his shirt, then, and attempts to do the same to Danny; Danny lets him. It's been a long few weeks, prepping for finals and _taking_ finals and wrapping things up for the end of the semester. He's missed even the simple things like lying on the couch in nothing but their boxers, trading lazy kisses, palming miles of smooth skin. Danny drags his nails over the constellation of moles low on Stiles' back, the one Danny's always playing connect-the-dots with, with whatever color Sharpie he can reach. He swallows Stiles' moan with a kiss.

Stiles is hard in his pajamas, quietly rubbing off against Danny's thigh. Danny's hard, too, and the friction feels good, blunted by the cotton, sweet. It's almost like they're teenagers again, fumbling through sex for the first time.

"Wait, wait," Stiles gasps. He rests his head on Danny's shoulder, lungs working for air, then says, "We're not teenagers. Pants off." and starts pushing at their pants in turns. Stiles isn't satisfied until they're down around their knees, and he goes back to kissing Danny, leaning in close to get a hand around their cocks. His grip is firm, warm where it snugs under the crown. They're both a little wet, and Danny thinks he can feel the throb of Stiles' pulse.

Stiles tilts his head back to kiss Danny, his eyes wide and dark. He can't seem to find a rhythm, and Danny realizes it's because he's using his left hand, after the way he got into bed.

Danny's fingers slot neatly with Stiles' and they find their pace together, hips thrusting into their combined grip, soft grunts getting lost in each others' mouths. Danny wants to get his free hand in Stiles' hair, but it's pinned by Stiles' body, so his nails dig into Stiles' shoulder instead, teeth scraping over Stiles' chin.

The bed they're in is smaller than what they're used to, a twin with a lumpy comforter, but it's cozy with the neighbors' decorations still on outside, twinkling red-blue-green-white. Feels right in a way it probably shouldn't, Stiles coming on a breathy groan, Danny following right behind.

It's quiet, after, only the wet sounds of their messy kisses breaking the silence. Stiles has to stop every so often to giggle and Danny chastises him with a careful bite to his neck or shoulder. Stiles calms down enough to fish their pajamas out from between the sheets, using them to clean up the mess of come on their stomachs, then tosses them to the floor. It feels like Stiles is settling in, snuggling into the mattress on a contented sigh. And it's not that Danny minds, but there's the whole thing about separate bedrooms, still.

Stiles grumbles at the elbow to his side. "Relax," he hisses, glomming onto Danny with eight too many limbs. "I'll wake up before he does. I've got it down to a science."

Danny's skeptical, but the warmth is comforting and it feels like he's only been half-awake the whole time anyway. It doesn't take much to convince himself to trust Stiles and settle in.

* * *

39.

Derek crashes in through Scott’s bedroom window, covered in drying blood and grime. He doesn’t hesitate, moves towards the sound of soft voices and that lifeline of a heartbeat that he knows so well. He moves down the corridor towards them, hears Scott say “oh jesus, okay mom don’t freak out” just before he throws the door to the room wide.

Stiles is sleeping in Mrs. McCall’s bed, his side bandaged neatly. Derek hasn’t seen him since he sent him away in Scott’s arms and the mere sight of him shatters Derek’s heart into a million pieces. He has faith that Scott’s mom followed the instructions he’d shouted at Scott, but he leans in and sniffs along the wound until he is satisfied that Stiles will come out of this unscathed.

Derek climbs into the bed next to Stiles, sparing no thought to the filth he is leaving all over Mrs. McCall’s bedsheets, only able to focus on carefully moving Stiles into his arms. Stiles squirms against him but still doesn’t open his eyes. He does, however, relax in Derek’s arms, body melting against him as he breathes in deeply and whispers “Thank god.” Derek pulls him closer, buries his nose in Stiles’ hair.

Mrs. McCall looks a bit nonplussed, and he can see Scott motioning for her to join him in leaving the room. Stiles shifts, wincing, and mumbles “d’you get him?”

“Yeah,” Derek sighs. There wasn’t much left of the Omega by the time Derek was finished with him.

“Knew you were okay though.” Stiles reeks of bravado. “I mean, I’d have felt something, if you’d...” he slides his hand under Derek’s filthy shirt, not-so-discreetly checking for injuries. “Right?”

“Probably.” Derek isn’t so sure, recalls running across town in a panic, something in the back of his mind saying that Stiles was okay but a bigger part of him ready to rend the entire world if he was not.

“I think I would,” Stiles insists, “ever since we...y’know.” Stiles takes a deep breath. “It’s like you’re with me, somehow, even when you’re not. Is that...that’s weird, isn’t it. Sorry, it’s just...”

“It’s not weird.” Derek kisses him and wishes he knew more about this thing between them, wishes that there was someone to tell him how it worked when you tied your soul to something as brilliant and breakable as this. “I’m taking you home, c’mon.” He helps Stiles sit up, cringes

“It’s a _little_ weird.”

Derek huffs in reply, dresses Stiles carefully in his t-shirt and hoodie, helps him out of the house and into the Camaro, and drives him home. Derek’s body loses a fraction of its tension when he sees that Stiles’ house stands empty, and they take their time making it up the stairs. By the time they get to Stiles’ room and maneuver him into clean pajamas, he’s a pale and sweating mess.

“Oh my god, you’re disgusting,” Stiles says, as though he’s only now noticed. “Go take a shower already, Jesus.”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Derek laughs as he heads for the bathroom.

He climbs into bed with Stiles, presses their bodies as close as possible. He runs his hands over every inch of skin in front of him, envisions the bruises that are surely taking shape. He takes his time kissing Stiles all over, soothing and claiming all at once. He kisses his way down Stiles’ body, bites gently at a hip bone before taking his cock into his mouth.

He sucks him slowly, deeply. Takes Stiles as deep as he can, cock making space in the back of his throat.

“Can you do the thing?” Stiles has his eyes closed, one hand fisted gently in Derek’s hair.

“The thing?” Derek rubs Stiles cock against his cheek.

“Yeah, you know, the thing.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him.

“Like you did after Peter left?”

Derek smirks, swallows Stiles down again. He works him with one hand, sucking with the motion he knows brings fast results. Stiles’ cries out raggedly as he shoots his load into Derek’s mouth, hips rising up off the mattress.

Derek slides up the bed with a mouth full of come, swallows the filthy moan that comes out of Stiles when he kisses him. He pushes Stiles’ come into his mouth with his tongue, kisses him until they run out of breath.

Stiles settles back against his pillows, pulls Derek close. He closes his eyes but doesn’t sleep, just listens to the sounds of Stiles being alive.

* * *

40.

Derek places his hand over Stiles’ heart where the puncture marks have almost faded. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want this.”

Stiles puts his hand over Derek’s. “I wanted to _live_. And I gave you permission a long time ago if there was no other way.”

&&&

“So you’re both alphas now?” Isaac asks incredulously.

Stiles answers before Derek can. “We were already mated. When he turned me, we became an alpha pair.”

Erica smirks. “So if Daddy won’t let me borrow the car, does that mean that I can ask Mommy to—”

“Nobody borrows the Camaro,” Derek snarls.

&&&

Derek doesn’t let Stiles drag him to the bedroom; he pushes back, makes Stiles use more and more of his new strength to take what he wants. By the time they’re on the bed, Derek’s shirt is in actual shreds. “I can get you naked faster now,” Stiles sing-songs, and Derek can feel the point of a fang graze his earlobe.

“How do you want me?” Derek breathes, grabbing the lube from the nightstand and quickly prepping himself.

“On your stomach,” Stiles says, eyes flashing red.

Derek kisses Stiles quickly but deeply, rolling over onto his stomach and pulling one knee up, opening himself to Stiles. “Oh my god, Derek,” he hears in a harsh whisper behind him. It’s not like Stiles has never seen him like this before, but Stiles’ new wolf has never been presented with submission like this and it’s got to be making him _crazy_.

Stiles slides home in one long, achingly slow push, his voice catching on Derek’s name as his hips start a steady pace. It’s good, but a little too familiar. “You’re holding back,” Derek grunts. “Don’t.”

Stiles bends and presses a hot, wet kiss to the back of Derek’s neck. “I love the hell out of you,” he whispers.

Then he takes Derek by the hips and sets about fucking him into oblivion. There’s some pain, yes, but the pleasure of being taken so forcefully by his mate overrides everything else.

“Okay, Derek,” Stiles says, breathless but not pausing. “I let go. Now you.”

He presses a hand between Derek’s shoulder blades and finds the angle that makes Derek wail. Stiles could fuck Derek for hours like this if he wanted to, a thought that grabs Derek so hard it takes him a few moments to realize that Stiles’ thrusts have shortened. Then Stiles freezes, and when Derek cranes his head up, Stiles is staring down, his mouth open.

“Holy fuck, do I have a knot?”

“Touch the base of your cock,” Derek says, trying and failing to keep his voice even. “Is it sensitive?”

Stiles wraps a hand around himself and immediately moans. “Holy god.”

“Do it,” Derek says, dropping back into position.

It takes Stiles a few wriggling thrusts to work the swelling knot in, and Derek is completely blindsided by the fullness. It’s so overwhelming he can’t move, can’t make a sound. This is Stiles staking pure, animal claim over him, something so far beyond sexual that Derek is sure even Stiles doesn’t have words for it.

Stiles has fallen forward on his hands, breath coming out in sobs against the back of Derek’s neck. All he can do now is grind against Derek, and when he hits the right spot at the same time that his teeth clamp down on the back of Derek’s neck, Derek comes in a white-hot rush of agonizing pleasure, untouched cock spurting hard all over the sheets.

Stiles starts to come with Derek’s final hard shudder, and he releases Derek’s neck to throw his head back and howl. Derek has never felt so proud, so desperately in love than at this moment. _He belongs to Stiles._ He always has, but his wolf is more sated now than it’s ever been.

Stiles is still coming when his arms give out and he collapses onto Derek’s back. Derek’s used to being able to shift them into a better position, but Stiles is new to this, so it takes some… negotiation before they’re comfortable. Stiles is wrapped around him, and that’s hardly uncommon, but now he’s the one filling _Derek_ up, holding him captive. 

Eventually, it occurs to Derek. “You haven’t said it yet.”

“Oh my god, I haven’t!” Stiles gasps. “Can I say it now?”

“Just get it over with.”

Stiles gets his lips right behind Derek’s ear, and what comes out is a growled whisper that has Derek quivering. “ _I’m the alpha now_.”

* * *

41.

Derek isn’t sleeping when the door to his room creaks open and a figure slips in. Derek doesn’t have to open his eyes to know its Stiles. His senses are attuned to him and Derek can recognize him as easily as breathing.

Stiles pads over to the bed on air, lifts the covers, and slides in.

“You awake?” Stiles asks.

“No,” Derek answers.

Stiles nudges him with a bare shoulder. “Liar.”

Derek sighs, shifts, opens his arms and Stiles dives in, snuggles against him, lays his head on Derek’s chest, tangles their feet. They fit like pieces of a puzzle.

“I’m nervous,” Stiles says.

Derek tightens his hold. He can hear the rabbit-beat of Stiles’ heart, can smell the acidic tang of nervous sweat, and can feel the fine tremors in Stiles’ frame.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because I’m getting married tomorrow.”

Derek’s heart clenches in uncertainty.

“The groom is awesome,” Stiles continues. “I’ve known him for a long time. That’s not the part I’m worried about.”

Derek lets out a relieved breath. Stiles pokes him. “Aw, you thought I was worried about you? So freaking cute!”

“It’s not like you had a choice.”

Derek can practically feel Stiles roll his eyes. “Not this again. Just because it was arranged beforehand doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have chosen you.”

There is no flutter in Stiles’ heartbeat, no uptick, no indication of a lie, but Derek can’t bring himself to believe it.

“It’s an alliance between our people. We were betrothed before you could talk. You must resent that.”

“The only thing I resent is the fact that my future husband can’t get it through his thick werewolf skull that I might like the idea of being bonded to him. I mean, you’re happy, right?”

Stiles’ voice comes out small. Derek kicks himself. He _never_ wanted to give Stiles the impression that he doesn’t want him. He absolutely does. Okay, maybe when his mother first presented the idea that Derek would have to marry some gangly spastic _faerie_ to appease an ancient supernatural law, Derek wasn’t happy.

But that changed over the years they courted, throughout the many times Stiles hosted Derek in the faerie hill, and the times Stiles visited the human world.

“Yes,” Derek answers, rolling on top of Stiles, pinning him to the soft mattress. Stiles’ eyes are wide in the moonlight, glowing honey-brown with warmth. His hair can’t decide if it wants to stick up or be flattened to the side of his head. His skin is luminous and pale, dotted with moles and with his blue-green faerie markings that trail over his shoulders, down his chest and torso. “Very happy,” Derek breathes.

Stiles smiles and Derek leans in, kisses him. Stiles opens for him, his mouth wet and warm. It stirs the want in Derek’s middle. He can feel Stiles harden against him, and Derek nips at Stiles’ bottom lip, lets out a low growl as Stiles’ hands fist in his hair, his own cock iron-hard.

“This,” Stiles pants as Derek licks his neck “is the part I’m nervous about.”

They haven’t. Not yet. Even with all the times they’ve shared a bed and all the make-outs that occurred in Derek’s car and Stiles’ room.

“Don’t be,” Derek says in Stiles’ ear, enjoying the full-body shudder that runs through Stiles beneath him. “I’ll take care of you.”

Stiles grasps Derek’s shoulders, fingernails digging in, legs bracketing Derek’s body. “Tell me what will happen again.”

“After the ceremony, I’ll take you to our marriage bed, kiss you,” Derek says, kissing Stiles, hard, filthy. “Open you up,” he punctuates that with a roll of his hips which leaves Stiles gasping. “Fuck you. Knot you,” he murmurs against Stiles’ throat. “Fill you up.”

“Then the bond will be complete,” Stiles says. He’s practically luminescent with arousal and Derek’s dick aches at the sight.

“We should – ”

“If you say stop I will fucking zap you,” Stiles says, hand clutching Derek’s ass, urging him forward. Derek loves Stiles’ penchant for human slang. He loves Stiles’ thirst for knowledge about everything. Derek loves that Stiles arches into every roll of his hips. He loves Stiles’ body, sinuous and lithe, and how his markings come alive when he moves.

He loves Stiles.

Derek pistons his hips, rubs against Stiles’ clothed cock. Stiles bites his lip, throws his head back. He comes with a moan and Derek follows, burying his face in Stiles’ neck.

“Still nervous?” Derek asks smirking.

Stiles smiles drowsily. “Not at all.”

* * *

42.

Sex is there. Sex is a thing. Sex happens. It's just not something Derek's very interested in.

Derek likes intimacy. Derek likes being possessive. Derek likes moments like this. They're curled in bed, Stiles working and Derek devouring his latest crime thriller when Stiles shuts his laptop.

"Done! I can't do any more on this tonight. I swear, if I spend any more time squinting at historical texts I'm going to go insane." He turns his bedside light off, snuggling down against Derek's side.

Stiles doesn't sleep, some ways Stiles is like him, he likes to just bask in the intimacy of just sharing space with another being, the comfort of knowing the person beside you means as much to you as you do to them.

Stiles nudges his head under Derek's arm, wriggles, adjusts and slowly moves them until Derek is curled around him. Stiles rests his head on Derek's arm and Derek holds his book in front of Stiles's face, still reading. Stiles seems content to lay there, dozing in Derek's arms as he carries on, the slow turn of pages as the mystery unfolds, one clue at a time.

*

Derek's never said it outright, never even thought about giving it a label until Stiles did. Derek _can_ , he just doesn't want to, doesn't see the point, the _need_.

To Derek relationships were finding someone and fucking them. Find someone you like: have sex. He hadn't known there were other ways to be. Derek knew he wanted Stiles, wanted to listen to him talk about his day, be the person Stiles thought of first. He wanted Stiles all to himself, to be the special person in Stiles' life, not anyone else, and he did the same.

*

He feels the restlessness before he smells it: the musky scent of _Stiles_. He hears the rustle of fabric as Stiles slides a hand down to wrap around his cock.

Derek loves that Stiles still shares this with him, loves that this can still be between them even if Derek doesn't join in. Derek bookmarks his page, sets it aside.

"No, no," Stiles says, a little breathless already. "Keep reading, I didn't mean for you to stop."

"You're far more interesting than a book," Derek replies slipping his arms around Stiles and pulling him back against him.

He can hear the way Stiles's pulse speeds up, the way his dick jerks in his hand.

"Yeah..." Stiles sighs, grabbing his free hand, their fingers entwined over Stiles's heart.

*

They used to fuck. Derek would pin Stiles down, try and be everything he thought he wanted. Stiles, eighteen and eager would eat it all up, push them to try _everything_ , and it was... ok. That Stiles wanted to share all of those moments with Derek made him feel special, privileged. He cared more about what Stiles's pleasure than his own, loved watching him come undone. Getting off himself was always an afterthought, just something that happened.

*

"Derek..." he moans.

"I'm here," he answers, face buried in the crook of Stiles's neck. He smells like home.

*

"We should talk," Stiles had said making Derek worry. He'd thought, this is it, he's finally realised he can do better.

It must have shown on his face because Stiles smiled.

"Don't worry, it's not a bad thing. It's just... we don't have to have sex, you know that right?" Stiles was watching him.

"You're... you're breaking up with me?"

"No, you idiot." Stiles rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying... sex isn't why I'm with you, ok? Fucking's awesome, but, I like it when we just hang out too, when we fall asleep on the sofa, when we play Mario Kart and I beat your ass. I like all the things with you, I like _you_."

*

Stiles is craning his head around for a kiss and Derek doesn't disappoint him. He can hear the thwacking of the sheets as Stiles works himself harder, the way he bites his lip tight beneath his teeth. He looks beautiful, open and raw, all for Derek to see.

"Love you, Stiles," Derek murmurs. "So fucking much."

He feel Stiles come, smell the heavy scent of it ruining another pair of boxers.

"Love you too," Stiles slurs.

Derek passes Stiles the tissues, because he knows no amount of badgering will get Stiles to leave bed after an orgasm so close to their bedtime. And he wouldn't want it. He drops the used tissues in the waste-paper basket, turns off his own bedside lamp.

He snuggles down against a mostly asleep Stiles, happy and sated.

Sex isn't a bond that ties them together, not anymore. But they are bound together, by so, so much more than sex.

* * *

43.

Derek loves Stiles. 

It sounds like a simple thing. It _is_ a bite of a sentence. But it’s taken five years for Derek to come to terms with it. Even now, there are times when it hangs odd on his shoulders like a jacket put on inside out, and everything in him screams _flee_. But he loves Stiles.

He _does not_ love the idiot that comes with him. He _despises_ hearing McCall shout through their bedroom door while Derek’s going down on an arching, writhing, _whimpering_ Stiles: “Tell Derek to hurry up with blowing you. Call of Duty, bro! Our troops are dying in the trenches!” He _loathes_ throwing an arm around Stiles and hitting a snoring, snuffling McCall on the other side.

He _hates_ sharing the man he’s finally admitted he wants all to himself.

* * *

He’ll be fine. The nurse says it again. Probably because Derek is still staring into Stiles’s battered face like he expects the life will bleed away if he doesn’t. He sits at Stiles’s bedside, awareness shot. McCall drops into the seat next to him, says, “I don’t like you.”

Derek huffs out a breathless laugh.

“You don’t like me either.” Derek wouldn’t disagree even if he could form words right now. “Derek. I don’t like you _because_ you’re perfect for him. We’ve— _I’ve_ fucked up _a lot_ with Stiles but he still loves me. For reasons I’ll probably never understand but that I’m eternally grateful for.” And McCall sounds older than Derek’s ever thought of him. “This, _you_ —” He gestures between himself and Stiles, “ _We_ could drift again. It happened with Allison and I didn’t even notice. Not until I looked at my best friend one day and I realized I had no idea what was going on in his head.”

McCall’s eyes are wet. “I _always_ know what’s going on in his head. Not thought for thought because _Stiles_ ,” he says with a weak laugh, “but I know when he’s thinking about some obscure comic book quote. Or his mom and needs to be distracted.” McCall kicks out with his foot. “The reason I’m around all the time isn’t to fuck with you. It’s because I’m terrified of losing him again. I’m terrified of _not_ knowing him because he’s the best person in the world to know.”

Derek thinks he and McCall might have done what Stiles has been after them to do for ages. Because that’s a fear Derek knows all too well, a fear that’s taken root in his core, a fear that wakes him from dead sleep. He and McCall have finally found common ground. Over the only thing they have in common.

Neither one of them looks away from Stiles again.

* * *

Derek takes Stiles home, fucks him open, slow and deep and intimate. He doesn’t say he loves Stiles because Kate has taken more from him than he’ll ever admit, but he shows him. As much as he’s able, he shows him.

Derek turns his back when they’re done. Angry at Stiles for getting hurt, for reminding him how breakable he is, for being reckless because he could so easily be _gone_ and Derek wouldn’t – _can’t_ – survive that loss.

Stiles props his chin up on Derek’s shoulder. “I know this has been hard for you.” Derek doesn't say anything, hardly daring to breathe. “I know, for a long time, even after we got together, you didn’t come first.” This is about McCall. And Derek’s always known that but it’s something else to hear it said out loud. “Derek,” Stiles says softly. “That was past tense, in case you missed it.”

Derek can feel the smile against his shoulder. “It takes a lot to kick the guy who gave me his _last_ Inspector Gadget Band-Aid out of top spot.” Derek stares up at him, wary and all too hopeful. “But you’re my family, as much as Scott is. _More_.”

Derek swallows, tries to speak around the lump in his throat. “Me—me too.”

Stiles’s smile tips up into a smirk. “Of course I am. You may be emotionally barren but no one can resist the Stilinski charm.”

Derek laughs and it really isn’t funny but Stiles can make all the shit things okay. It’s an ability only he has and Derek isn’t sure where he’d be without it. “McCall’s not so bad.” Stiles looks guarded. “Scott,” Derek says. “Scott isn’t so bad.”

The beaming smile Stiles gives him in return is worth whatever might follow.

* * *

44.

When the bond breaks it feels like someone digs their clawed hand into Stiles’s stomach and pulls until he's hollowed out. It hurts like nothing's ever hurt before, and Stiles knows hurt. He gasps for breath, clutching at his stomach as he sinks to his knees in the mud. He shakes with the effort of holding back a scream, digging one hand into the soil as he splays the other one over the spot where he feels the bond snapping like a rubber band.

"Fix it!" he yells, hand twisting in his shirt. "Scott. _Fix it._ "

Scott pulls him up, his face pale and terrified. "Come on,” he says, urgent. “We'll figure it out."

**

“Hey there, Schumacher, keep the foot away from the gas,” Stiles says as the sharp turn presses him up against the door of the Jeep. Derek gives him a look out of the corner of his eyes.

“She’s not a racing car, okay? I didn’t train her for this.” Stiles glares at Derek, whose jaw is so tense Stiles thinks it might snap in half. “Dude, stop treating me like I did anything wrong. That banshee was going to kill you, and also the pack, and Beacon Hills, and most importantly: me.” Stiles waves his arms for emphasis.

His shirt is splattered with Banshee blood and he doesn’t know if calling attention to it makes it better or worse.

“Your soul is literally stuck to mine, Stiles. If you endanger yours, you endanger mine.”

“So, that’s what this whole tantrum is about,” Stiles says, fingers tightening around the handle on the door. “Just you worrying about how _your_ soul is going to survive the constant supernatural onslaught happening right now.”

Derek sighs, his mouth downturned. “Did you miss the part where my soul is attached to yours? So, no, I’m not just worrying about _my_ soul.”

Stiles goes quiet for a moment, staring out the window. “Is this your way of saying you care?”

“I ripped the heart out of a banshee with my bare hands, Stiles. Also we’ve been fucking for months. What do you think?”

Leave it to Derek to sound so pissed off about having a soulmate.

The Jeep skids around the curve. Stiles swears. “Derek, fuck, this isn’t Mario Kart.”

“Oh damn, what will I do with all my shells.”

“I hate you.”

**

It’s not like he’d fucked Derek pre-bond, so he has no real way to compare. But he’s done things with other people, and while being blown in the bathroom at Lydia’s party was pretty fucking awesome, it wasn’t... _this_.

He can feel their bond spreading out under his skin, buzzing with life and curling in contentment over the fact that they’ve finally stopped resisting. Derek’s hand on his waist feels too hot, like it’s branding him, fitting itself to his waist as if it belongs there.

“Derek.” Stiles’s voice breaks as the thick length of Derek’s cock sinks in, taking him apart until he’s nothing but a heap of exposed nerves.

Derek pushes him down onto the bed with a hand on his back, holding him steady as he pulls back out, the drag of his cock making Stiles press his face into the covers to muffle his sounds.

“I know,” Derek says.

Derek’s hand shakes just before he loses control and fucks Stiles into the bed so hard that Stiles thinks it’s going to break for a moment. And then he’s not thinking anymore, just writhing under the hand pinning him down as the bond fills his body with something that feels like Derek – like Derek is in him and on him and everywhere.

**

“No, it’s not fucking okay,” Stiles says, throwing the book across the room.

It knocks his lamp off the nightstand to fall at Derek’s feet, but Derek doesn’t even flinch.

“I’m stuck to you for _life_.” Stiles knows his heart is beating too fast; his scent must be sour with panic. “I only have one of those! And I can’t have a wife. Or kids. Or a normal fucking existence without knowing my _soul_ is forever glued to yours.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s shoulders are slumped, but he’s calm.

“You don’t even know me, not really. And making out because we were high on adrenaline doesn’t count!”

“ _Stiles._ ”

“You don’t even like me.”

The bond buzzes to life when Derek’s hand squeezes his shoulder, the touch a strange and unfamiliar. “We’ll figure it out.”

* * *

45.

It started as a warmth pooling low in Derek’s stomach, so subtle, at first, that he didn’t notice until the Nissan idling behind his Camaro honked, and Derek realized he’d been standing beside the gas pump for fifteen minutes, hand curled around the nozzle, while his mind lingered on Stiles’s long hands, the soft, fuzzy happy trail leading down his soft stomach and into the waistband of his boxers.

Shaking himself, Derek unscrewed the Camaro’s gas cap. He hit the premium button, lifted the nozzle, and spasmed, as the mating bond linking him to Stiles blew wide open. Long, calloused fingers wrapped around his cock – no, not his, no foreskin, this was all Stiles, the damp, ruddy head peeking out from the circle of his fingers, jeans and boxers shoved low on his thighs.

 _Derek,_ Stiles groaned inside his mind, arcing his back against the cold, porclain – toilet, Derek realized, Stiles was actually jacking off in the boys’ bathroom. The nozzle clattered to the ground.

 _You little shit,_ Derek thought, steadying himself against the car while the Nissan’s horn blared. Derek lifted his head, and the Nissan’s driver quailed at his expression. The mating bond bubbled with mirth that grew sweeter, thicker as Derek focused on it. On one level, he was braced against the Camaro’s trunk, erection straining against his jeans, and on another, he stroked himself frantically in the men’s room, calling up memories of his cock sliding down Stiles’s throat, of Stiles’s tight heat around his fingers, the sharp, sweet pain of Derek’s knot as it swelled inside him.

Involuntarily, Derek’s hands curled into fists, lengthening nails biting into his palms. _I’m going to kill you,_ he thought, and Stiles laughed, gasped as he spilled hot and wet over his fingers.

 _Looking forward to it,_ Stiles sent back, blithely, fondly, like Derek’s anger was adorable, like he was a fucking puppy, not an Alpha werewolf. The bond faded to a quiet hum in the back of his mind, and Derek snapped back into his own body, painfully hard, ears and neck hot.

* * *

Derek’s Henley fell to Stiles’s carpet. A second later, his jeans followed, then his briefs. The bond vibrated faintly, a sign that, unconsciously, Stiles’s mind had cued into what was going on. Still, if Derek traced the link between them, he could find most of Stiles’s attention focused on the textbook in front of him, the highlighter cap between his teeth.

When Derek caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on Stiles’s bedroom door, his eyes gleamed red, predatory. He settled himself on Stiles’s bed. The crumpled sheets still smelled like sex from this morning, and Derek luxuriated in the scent, stretching out to let it sink into his skin. He drifted a hand down his stomach, and the bond between them sputtered to life, Stiles’s mental voice foggy and confused.

_Derek?_

_Hmm?_ Derek rolled onto his side, opening the nightstand drawer. He pulled out the bottle of lube, and Stiles’s breath caught hard enough that Derek felt it in his own throat.

Once or twice, Stiles’s fingers had brushed, teasingly, over the crack, before Derek growled and caught his wrists. Truthfully, Derek didn’t know why he’d resisted it so long, except it felt too much like losing control, and he had so little left when it came to Stiles. But when Derek flattened his feet on the mattress and pressed a finger inside, it felt like nothing but control. The highlighter cap dropped from Stiles’s slackening mouth. Derek squirmed, pressing deeper, focusing on the lust flickering through the bond. Shamelessly, he imagined these were Stiles’s long, wicked fingers, working him open. His thighs spread wider and Derek groaned, rocking back against his own hand.

 _What the fuck?_ Stiles thought, all panic and desperation.

 _Want you_ Derek sent back. _Want your fingers. Your cock. Oh Stiles, fuck!_ He worked another finger inside, gritting his teeth when Stiles’s pulse jumped.

By the time door slammed open, Derek was up to four fingers, his brow beading with sweat. Stiles stumbled inside, all glazed eyes and tented jeans.

“You . . . school,” Derek managed, fingers still knuckle deep in himself.

“I walked out of physics,” Stiles gasped. “Harris gave me detention for a month. Fuck, come here!”

Derek lost it when Stiles grasped the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Or maybe he won. Derek didn’t know anymore. But either way, he was definitely playing for keeps.

* * *

46.

Stiles loves his and Derek's house. They're in the middle of nowhere, the preserve stretching around them for miles and miles.

It's perfect for a little fun between an Alpha and his mate.

*

Stiles is riding Derek on their bed, slow and aching, clenching his ass around Derek's hard dick. He doesn't want Derek to come yet; he's got plans for the both of them.

"God, Stiles," Derek groans. He bucks his hips, trying to fuck Stiles harder.

"No," Stiles says, lifting up so that only the head is inside of him. Derek makes a frustrated noise, hands flexing on Stiles' thighs, but he settles down and stays still. "Good."

Derek briefly bares his teeth, but Stiles just chuckles and leans forward. He kisses Derek deep and lazy, pulling back to smile wickedly at him.

"Let's play a game."

Derek gives him a suspicious look. "What kind of game?"

Stiles hums but doesn't answer, pulling the rest of the way off, feeling lube slide out of his stretched hole. He gives Derek one more kiss before climbing from the bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and shoving his feet in a pair of shoes.

"What are you –"

Stiles leans over him and sucks a bite right under Derek's jaw, making him groan. It disappears almost as soon as Stiles pulls back. He presses his lips against Derek's ear and whispers:

"Catch me if you can."

*

He runs fast but Derek isn't far behind, even without using his werewolf speed. Stiles pauses every now and then to rub against a tree or to roll in the dirt; it isn't something Derek needs to chase him, but it's fun to leave teasing hints.

Eventually Stiles circles back towards the house. He can hear Derek behind him, gaining ground, and Stiles speeds up as much as he can. He clears the last of the trees and takes off across the backyard, and he's halfway to the open back door when Derek bursts into the clearing.

Stiles can't stop the wild laugh that escapes, loud and echoing in the night air. He glances over his shoulder as he makes his last sprint, catching sight of red eyes and a glint of fang. This is going to be _so good_.

He's barely made it past the porch when Derek tackles him from behind. They twist in the air, Derek sliding on his back across the kitchen floor when they land, his arms wrapped tightly around Stiles' middle. As soon as they stop Derek is rolling them over, pressing Stiles into the floor face first.

"Oh god," Stiles says, moaning as Derek yanks his sweatpants down to his ankles and spreads his ass cheeks wide. He's pretty sure he feels claws scratching lightly at his skin, and he whimpers in anticipation. "Best idea _ever_."

Derek growls his agreement and presses the head of his dick against Stiles' ready hole. It's all the warning Stiles gets, Derek slamming his hips forward and pushing all the way in, balls deep. Stiles shouts, fingers scrabbling at tile, his eyes rolling back in his head. Derek grips his hips and pulls him up so that his ass is high, his face still pressed against the floor. He leaves one hand curled tightly around Stiles' hip, and the other tangles in Stiles' hair, holding him in place as he starts fucking into him relentlessly. It's _glorious_.

Stiles doesn't register Derek's knot at first, too lost in his own pleasure, but when it gets big enough to start tugging on his rim he realizes what's happening. "Oh my god yes," he says, trying to spread his knees as far as the sweatpants still tangled around his ankles will let him.

Derek groans and pushes in deep, fingers tightening in Stiles' hair and on his hip as his knot begins to grow to its full size. It stretches Stiles to the point where the pain and pleasure are so mixed together he can't tell one from the other.

Derek makes whining noises behind him, and Stiles can feel him pulsing, filling him with hot come. It's too much, and Stiles shudders, clenching down painfully as he comes, Derek's knot locked tightly inside of him.

After a long moment, Derek shifts carefully to tangle their fingers together, mouthing kisses against the back of Stiles' neck.

"So that was fun," Stiles says, breathless.

"Yeah," Derek agrees, smiling against Stiles' shoulder. "Yeah, it was."

* * *

47.

Derek’s eyes open slowly, blinking at the bright lights, the harsh white of a hospital room.

A woman’s voice breaks through the beeping and the hum of the machines he’s hooked up to. It’s familiar.

“Oh, Derek.” A mess of dark blond hair covers his chest and he’s being hugged. “Thank God!”

“Mrs. Hale!” A nurse pulls the woman off him. “Mrs. Hale, I’m sorry, but you are going to need to let us examine him.”

Chris Argent is pulling Kate away. Her eyes are red, wet with tears as she looks back at Derek. The shock makes his heart race and has the nurse clearing the room and calling for a doctor.

*

Derek stares at the door, trembling at the thought Kate could walk through it again. Everyone seems just as confused as he is. The nurses give him pitying looks that make him want to scream.

They try to explain to him that he’s been in a coma. That his memories aren’t real. They have to tie his arms and legs for his own protection and theirs. He isn’t strong enough to break them, even though they are just leather. He’s human; it takes him three days to accept that.

But Derek refuses to believe that anyone named Kate Hale could exist. He wants to rip the gold band from his finger but it’s been on too long, fits too snugly.

*

“I promise we’ll start slow.” Kate’s tone is so sincere, he wishes he still had the ability to hear her heartbeat to know if she’s lying.

He’s lost that too, along with his sanity.

She steps towards the bed. “Please, just listen to what I have to say.” She looks at him like she had that first day with soft eyes and a sassy smile. It makes his chest ache and his stomach roll.

She starts talking. He stares up at the ceiling, telling himself it’s all lies.

*

One day she takes his hand and he doesn’t flinch.

He begins to forget the smell of Peter’s burnt skin, Laura’s open-eyed stare as he buried her. He starts to doubt.

*

She’s patient, impossibly patient with him. Kate Hale is nothing like Kate Argent, even if they share a face, a voice, a laugh.

It makes it both harder and easier to believe that the world of werewolves and arson was all a horror film playing out in his brain -- just names and faces of people he barely knew. The doctors suggest that his insecurities created that life: extreme self-doubt fabricating an entire world around his fear of failure.

*

Derek bumps into the Sheriff as he’s being discharged.

His name is John. It’s odd that he never knew that in his dreamworld. It’s a random detail, but it makes the world he’s in now feel more real for some reason.

*

Kate takes him back to a house, shows him their wedding photos and cooks him dinner.

Then she takes him to the bedroom they’ve apparently shared for five years.

She strips him down, humming in delight at his body. And this part is familiar. Her touch feels so right, it’s easy to not fight it. He once thought she loved him and maybe he hadn’t been wrong?

She licks his chest and Derek’s stomach clenches.

Looking up at him, she grins. “Do you remember this, baby?”

He does, but it didn’t quite go like this. He says nothing; it’s enough for her. She slides up his body and kisses him, sinking down on his cock so quickly they both cry out.

She rides him hard. She’s a master at this, knows just how to tilt her hips. Her legs are strong enough to keep a frantic pace. He remembers this, only this time the scratches she leaves on his chest don’t heal instantly.

“I missed you,” she says, once they’re spent and sweaty.

“I missed you, too.” He’s ashamed that he’s not even lying.

*

He looks out the window as they drive through the preserve; the leaves on the trees blur.

Kate thinks he’s ready. He’s not sure, the false memories are still vivid every time he closes his eyes. He still wonders sometimes if this version is the dream. His wedding band itches.

But as the house comes into view, tall and beautiful and whole, as he sees his mother kneeling by the rose bush, his father working on his old trunk, as he hears Laura call out, “They’re here!” he swears to himself he never wants to wake up.

* * *

48.

Stiles had borrowed the handcuffs from his dad shortly after Scott had been bitten, back when he'd been a danger to himself and others every time the moon grew full. Then there'd been Peter and Kate and the kanima and Gerard and Stiles had had just a few things on his mind.

It wasn't theft if you forgot to return them. That was just absentmindedness.

The point is, the handcuffs had slipped his mind, right until he burst into his room after practice to find Derek holding them between two fingers and looking at Stiles like he was judging him.

"Um." Stiles dropped his bag to the floor and gulped. "What are those for?"

Derek raised one unimpressed eyebrow. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

"I--" He saw the drawer open behind Derek, the one that was all socks and underwear on top but his carefully-camouflaged porn stash underneath. Memory came back in a rush. He'd hidden the handcuffs there hoping that, if his dad did find them, he'd be too mortified by the gay porn and the KY to give Stiles grief. But time had passed and they'd fallen down underneath everything else and Stiles had forgotten. "Why were you snooping in my porn?"

"I wanted to surprise you," Derek said, grumpy, like it was Stiles's fault for ruining it.

"Well, color me surprised." Stiles reached, but Derek lifted the cuffs out of reach. "Can you just--"

"Is this your way of telling me you want to be tied down during sex?"

Stiles practically swallowed his tongue. " _What?_ No. You do that anyway with your wolfy superstrength, no props required. Will you _please_ give me those?"

Derek's frown turned thoughtful. "Is it your way of telling me that you want to tie _me_ down during sex?"

"Ha ha." Stiles glared. "Like you'd ever let me. You know, if Dad sees you holding those, he's going to _really_ get the wrong idea."

"I would," Derek said quietly. "If you wanted to."

"...What," Stiles said, a wheezing gasp. He stood there and gaped.

Derek glanced up at him then scowled. "Never mind," he said, too fast, and tossed the handcuffs to Stiles. They hit him in the chest and dropped down to his feet. "You don't want to. It's fine."

"Just hold on a minute." Stiles picked them up, then caught Derek's wrist as he turned to flee. Derek's gaze flashed to Stiles's fingers circling his wrist, then to the cuffs in his other hand. His eyes went dark. "You want me to tie you down and fuck you?"

Derek's brows lowered. "No," he growled. Then, reluctantly, "I don't want you to fuck me."

A slow grin spread across Stiles's face. "You want me to tie you down and ride you?"

Stiles didn't need a wolf's hearing to catch the way Derek's heart raced. He could feel it in the thrumming of his pulse under Stiles's fingers.

"Holy crap, _yes_." Stiles released his wrist and pushed him toward the bed. "Dude. All you had to do was ask."

While Derek climbed up onto the bed, Stiles detoured to grab the lube, then climbed onto the bed and straddled Derek's legs. He pushed Derek onto his back and laughed with delight when Derek let him.

His laughter died beneath arousal when Derek let him cuff him to the headboard, too. He shed his own clothes in a rush, then stripped Derek's pants and boxers off of him and straddled him once more. Derek's breath was already coming fast and shallow, his eyes black with hunger.

Stiles had to prepare himself, with Derek's hands out of commission. But that wasn't exactly a hardship, and it was more than worth it for the way Derek watched him, like as soon as he got free he was going to get Stiles back for the tease.

Stiles shuddered as he eased himself onto Derek's cock. Derek shivered, too, his fingers curling against his palms overhead. His eyes glinted gold an instant before he shut them. "God," Stiles gasped, and let his own weight push him down further. "I love you."

Derek's eyes opened and fixed straight on him. "I trust you," he said, completely relaxed beneath Stiles's weight, and from him, that meant pretty much the same thing.

* * *

49.

The thing is...no one talks about it.

Everyone knows. How could they not, with their enhanced senses? Even the humans are more than aware of what’s going on. But they don’t discuss it.

It’s never been an issue. Until it suddenly is.

“What’s he doing here?” Derek asks, blocking the entrance to his place and shooting them both a suspicious glare.

Peter tries not to roll his eyes. “It’s pack bonding night. We’re here to bond.”

“Yeah. Pack bonding. For the _pack._ Last I checked, Chris Argent wasn’t pack.”

“You know it’s rude to talk about people in front of them,” Peter says, casting a sidelong glance at Chris.

“And you know it’s rude to bring non-pack members to pack bonding night,” Derek counters.

Peter laughs, cold and brittle. He should’ve known to expect this. But he’s not taking this bullshit tonight, least of all from his nephew.

“Fine, then count us both out,” he says, calm. This isn’t over.

\--

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“Under no circumstances will Chris Argent ever become a member of this pack.”

“All right, fine. Maybe you did know. Kudos to you.” Peter spreads his hands out graciously. Derek glares.

“We don’t need someone like him. No one trusts him. There’s nothing he can offer us other than being your fuck buddy.” He spits the words, like it’s disgusting to him. Maybe it is. Not the fucking, because Derek loves to take it up the ass (Peter knows this for a fact), but perhaps the partner.

Peter smirks. “Still got a thing against the Argents, I see, even after all this time.”

It’s low. But no one’s ever accused him of being compassionate.

Surprisingly, Derek doesn’t rise to the bait. He folds his arms across his chest, shooting Peter a hard look instead. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

“It’ll never happen.”

“No?” He’s met with nothing but a steadfast silence. “Suit yourself, then.”

With a shrug, Peter turns, walking back down the porch steps. If it sounds like a threat, that’s because it is.

\--

“Is this really necessary?” Chris asks, but he’s breathless, writhing under Peter’s touch, so the complaint doesn’t feel entirely convincing.

“It is if we’re ever going to get through to my stubborn nephew.” He thrusts again, harder this time, nails digging into his hips as he feels Chris clench around his cock.

Chris pushes back against him with a moan, hands pressing against the wall. “And just how is fucking in his place not going to wind up in both our deaths?”

“Please,” Peter scoffs. “You’re a hunter, I’m the big bad wolf. He wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Except he would, and they both know it.

“Jesus Christ, would you fucking touch me already?” Chris growls, impatient, and fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing Peter’s ever heard.

He hums against Chris’ shoulder, raking very human teeth across pale skin, marveling at the scent of Chris’ attraction, his arousal, the way he shudders under Peter’s touch like he both loves and hates it. It makes him wonder, not for the first time, what it’d feel like to sink his teeth in and claim Chris like he wants to.

“Don’t be impatient, darling,” he coos, because the term of endearment pisses Chris off, but his anger drives Peter _wild_.

“Fuck you.”

Peter smirks. “Mmm, next time, love.” And then his fingers wrap around Chris’ dick, stroking him hard and firm as he drives into Chris with barely contained control. After that, it only takes a few minutes before they’re both coming, sated and satisfied.

\--

It takes Derek nearly twenty-four hours to show up at Peter’s apartment. He’s surprised Derek lasted that long.

“Is this what I have to look forward to?”

Peter shrugs. “Until you get the message.”

Derek’s mouth opens and closes several times, like he doesn’t know what to say. Eventually, he heaves a sigh, and even before he speaks, Peter can tell that they’ve won. “You’re cleaning every single inch of that place. I don’t want to be able to smell _anything_.”

“Not even Stiles’--”

“Every. Inch.”

Peter waves a hand. “Sure, fine. Whatever you want.”

“And don’t ever set foot in my home again uninvited.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air between them before Derek finally huffs, walking away without a second glance.

Peter smirks, crooked and a little devious, the thrill of victory thrumming through his veins.

* * *

50.

The only thing better than fucking Lydia is watching Lydia ride Derek. They’re both gorgeous - Derek’s strong physique stretched out naked and glistening with sweat, dark body hair against his tanned skin. Lydia is creamy white next to him, flushed at her clavicle and her cheeks. Her face is a mask of pleasure and concentration as she swivels and torques her hips just the way she knows Derek likes.

Stiles’ dick presses into Laura from behind and she groans in pleasure. It’s her favorite position, one that Stiles loves to tease her about and she doesn’t fucking care, especially when Stiles is the one fucking her. He can tease her about it all day, every day as long as he promises to never stop.

Derek’s hands are tight on Lydia’s hips, pressing bruises into the milky flesh and Laura has to reach over and pull one of her brother’s hands off Lydia, so she can hold onto it. This is her family, this is her pack, and though Laura is Alpha, they are all equals.

Laura loves them all; she’s in love with them all. She loves Derek, has always loved the leashed, controlled strength of him - his loyalty and fierceness. She loves Lydia - her sharp mind, her cunning, her ingenuity. She loves Stiles - his creativity, his enthusiasm and the only brain she knows to rival Lydia’s.

Their little Hale pack started from only Laura and Derek - two survivors. As children they’d always been a little too close and in their grief for their family, they crossed the last boundary that lay between them. With Derek, surrounded by his scent, she feels love and safe and home and pack.

Then Derek met Stiles, Laura met Lydia and somehow their pack of two became four.

Tonight, on the Blue Moon, they’re growing their little pack of four, on their way to making it a pack of six.

She can hear Stiles chanting behind her as he thrusts his hips, pushing into her. She can hear Lydia echoing his magic and the spell wraps around them - around Derek and Lydia, and then around Laura and Stiles, and then the four of them together - binding them as a pack, as a family, as mates - a holy quadrangle of humans and wolves - each of them magical in their own way.

God, Laura wants this. She wills her body to be open, wills Stiles to fuck her harder, wills Lydia to rock deeper against Derek, wills Derek to thrust up into Lydia.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that Stiles and Lydia have threaded the fingers of one of their hands each together - their fingers entwined. Laura tongues over two of Derek’s fingers, sucking them deep into her mouth, swirling her tongue around. She looks up and catches him staring at her - his eyes flashing blue and gold. She fingers herself with her other hand, bracing herself on her forarm so she can continue sucking at Derek’s fingers while she gets herself off with her other hand. Stiles is moaning from behind her - her name, Derek’s name, Lydia’s name. She can feel the knot their magic is forcing his human body to form, she knows that Lydia is already feeling Derek’s knot. They’ll be locked together with knots and the spell for at least half an hour, maybe longer.

And they’ll be a _family_ again, a real family - Derek, Laura, Stiles, Lydia and two brand new wolves to be welcomed into their pack. Wolves with Lydia and Stiles’ eyes and magic; with Derek and Laura’s dark hair and sharp teeth. No one will ever be able to break apart their family again, not with this kind of magic holding it together.

Stiles’ knot feels strange and new inside her and his hips hitch and jerk against her and at the first pulse of him inside her, she’s coming hard, biting down on Derek’s fingers and tasting a little blood. Derek surges up into Lydia and Lydia cries out and the magic is hot and bright and nearly painful and it feels _so good_ and they’ll never be lonely and scared again.

They’re bound together forever.

* * *

51.

Stiles is not a virgin anymore. The crazy amounts of sex he and Derek have is proof of that. But, well, he is still kind of inexperienced.

 _Derek_ is like the opposite of inexperienced. He's actually probably some sort of sex _guru_ ok, which, Stiles? He's not complaining.

It's just that sometimes he feels kind of inadequate. Derek can come up with these crazy sexy ideas, literally every fucking time, and it's always AWEsome. 10/10 times Stiles ends up a shuddering mess, splayed out on the bed, and feeling like the world could end around them and he wouldn't give a shit.

Stiles just wishes he could do that to Derek sometimes too.

Which is why he thinks he can actually feel the cartoon light bulb flash above his head, when he notices them.

The metal of the handcuffs glints tauntingly at him in the light of the kitchen. He has a brief insight that his dad must have forgotten them on his way out the door.

If he were a _good_ son, the kind of son he'd been two years ago, he'd be hopping in his jeep and heading toward the police station already.

Stiles is not that person anymore. He grabs the handcuffs before he can think about it, and goes up to his room.

~~~~~

The only thing Stiles is wearing when Derek inevitably crawls through his window, is his dad's old police hat. He's got the handcuffs dangling from one finger, and his hips are jutted out in a way that he hopes looks both authoritative and sexy.

Derek stops, half way inside. His mouth drops open in surprise, before a wicked grin splits his features.

"Damn. You caught me.”

"Breaking and entering _is_ a serious offense," Stiles deadpans.

“I surrender.” Derek holds out his arms. He bites at his lower lip to keep his mouth from twitching into a smile, as Stiles awkwardly manipulates the metal onto his wrists.

Their eyes catch, serious for a second, as the lock clicks into place. Derek gives Stiles a sharp nod, marking his acceptance of what they're doing, and Stiles grins.

"Now," Stiles pauses for a moment, and then he feels his smile turn evil. "Before you can be properly booked, I'm afraid I'm going to need to perform a strip search. You know, to make sure you don't have anything potentially dangerous on your person."

Derek gives a small bark of laughter, and his eyes flash red for a second. He just stands there though, limbs loose, and a challenge in his eyes that means Stiles is going to have to work for this.

Game. On.

Stiles eyes Derek's T-shirt first, frowning when he realizes there's no way to get it off without undoing the handcuffs. There's a pair of scissors sitting innocently on the corner of his desk though. Problem solved. And really, only fair considering how many clothes of his have been destroyed in direct proximity to Derek's...well, Derek's _everything_.

Derek raises an eyebrow, but doesn't complain.

The pants are next, and a bit easier, despite the fact that Derek is _zero_ help. And then they're both naked, Derek's wrists handcuffed in front of him, and fuck, but that just somehow makes him look even sexier. He's not cowed or vulnerable in the least.

Stiles feels his mouth go dry with anticipation.

~~~~~~

Derek is a panting, writhing mess. He's braced on his forearms, hands still bound together. His ass is raised in the air, and his hole is inflamed hot and gaping wide.

"I uh..." Derek pants into his arms, "don't think I'm hiding anything in there."

"Hmm," Stiles says. He absently adjusts the sheriff's hat out of his eyes, before sliding two of his fingers knuckle deep back into Derek. "These are dangerous times. One can never be too sure. Or too...” Stiles taps at Derek’s prostate, “Thorough."

Derek grunts and arches his back further, so that his hips tilt even more obscenely in the air.

"Stiles. Get on with it!" Derek grunts, finally breaking character.

Stiles laughs, and swats at the pink skin of Derek's ass.

~~~~~

Stiles collapses against Derek's back. They're both sweaty and bonelessly exhausted.

"Mmm. That was good right?" Stiles asks, suddenly self conscious.

Derek hums, and flops back to the bed, still panting shallowly. "Good," he agrees, and then he holds out his wrists.

Stiles stares at Derek's extended arms for a minute, a sudden cold thrill making his blood run icy. "Umm..."

"Oh my god. _Stiles_. You DO have the key, right?!"

* * *

52.

Stiles is normally a pro at choosing sides. He's been picking which team he stands on for years: Scott vs. Jackson, Scott vs. Peter, Scott vs. Mr Argent, Scott vs. anyone who remotely threatens him. Even, there came a time, Scott vs. Lydia, and he still chose his best friend, because that's what bros are for.

Until Derek.

" _Fuck,_ Stiles," Derek growls, gripping Stiles' thighs so hard there'll be obvious claw marks for days, raw and red and leaving dark bruises like a brand. Stiles swallows a moan as he rolls his hips, shoving back hard onto Derek's dick, taking him in again and again with insatiable want.

"That's it." Derek's muttering into Stiles' neck, teeth scraping his pulse point and forcing Stiles' eyes to flicker shut with pleasure. "That's it, babe, take it, Jesus _Christ._ " He's entirely still, letting Stiles do all the work as he bounces on Derek's hips.

Stiles smashes their lips together in a dirty, wet kiss, tongue fighting Derek's for a battle of dominance they already know the outcome to. When he draws back, Stiles watches as Derek stares, enraptured, at Stiles fucking himself onto his cock as he leaks pre-come over Derek's stomach.

" _Stiles,_ " Derek whines, and he wants to thrust, he wants to fuck himself up and fill Stiles with his come until he's dripping wet, full to the brim and running down his thighs. "You're such a good boy, I love it when you ride me, _fuck_."

Words are falling out of Derek's mouth, dirty and strained with desire and never-ending, matching Stiles' usual character. Stiles loves taking Derek apart like this, loves being the one who endures this pleasure in relative silence for once, who is absolutely one hundred per cent in control.

More than anything, Stiles likes being fucked by Derek, his huge, thick cock filling his arse and dragging him in the throes of thrashing towards the greatest pleasure he's ever known.

"Down," Stiles pants, and accompanies the one word with a shove of Derek's shoulders, back hitting the sofa. Derek lets Stiles hover over him, and with a perfect screw of his hips downwards, Stiles quickens his pace, determined to ride Derek to the finish.

"Fuck, Stiles, _fuck_!" Derek tries to bite the back of his hand as he crests, come spurting inside of Stiles, but Stiles holds Derek's arm down with an iron grip, watching pleasure overwhelm his face.

Derek is so beautiful, and he belongs to _Stiles_.

As Stiles pulls himself roughly to completion, Derek mouths at his collarbone with whispers of, "You're amazing, babe, _Stiles_ , fuck, I love you." Stiles shudders, feeling Derek's cock still sliding wetly inside of him, before coming over them both, his mouth stretched wide and silent.

As Derek plants soft kisses to the back of Stiles' ear, up his jaw, beside his eyes, Stiles knows, without a single werewolf sense to his availability, that he has broken that once titanium-hard shell that protected the most important friendship in his life. That Scott will be arriving any moment now, and he'll see Stiles, his best friend, sitting naked astride Derek, that he'll smell the betrayal in the air; and he'll know that for the first time ever, Stiles will not have put him first in his heart, that Stiles has chosen Derek's side, because Stiles is _in love, can't Scott understand that, the hypocrite, how can he make this decision so hard, it's not fair--_ ,

Stiles closes his eyes against Derek's kisses and waits for the familiar click of the front door.

* * *

53.

After years of doing this it’s still strange to be out here, naked, in the woods. There’s paint cooling on his skin. It’s still wet so he moves carefully so as not to smudge it, trying not to step on anything sharp. Limping would definitely put a dent in the proceedings. Derek’s ahead of him, stomping cheerfully through the underbrush, somehow comfortable in his skin now that that’s all he’s wearing.

There’s a place up ahead where this works. It’s just a small clearing but it has the right trees, rowan, oak, hazel, and pine.

Derek walks through the gap in the bushes that they’ve worn down over the years. He circles around the clearing, like a dog getting comfortable before going to sleep.

The paint on Derek’s skin is black. It swirls out from his tattoo, down to the backs of his knees and around to cover his chest. He looks like a warrior, so fierce and proud and happy to be here with Stiles.

Stiles steps forward to put both hands on Derek’s chest. There’s a pulse of magic and Stiles can feel his heartbeat adjusting to Derek’s. The forest is quiet around them, or maybe Stiles just isn’t listening anymore. He doesn’t have to; he can feel it, awareness stretching out like roots in all directions.

He leans up and kisses Derek softly. It’s not necessary, for this to work, but it’s nice anyway. Derek’s eyes are closed and he’s breathing deeply. Stiles doesn’t know if he feels the magic in the same way, but he obviously feels something. He can never really explain it afterwards.

Derek is already hard when Stiles reaches down. It’s nice, in a way, to just make Derek get off, without worrying about himself. He rarely gets to just watch Derek fall apart, quick and messy. Derek grabs his arms and curls into Stiles when he comes. Stiles keeps his hand cupped close and catches it all.

Derek straightens up, trembling a little, and steps back. The rest of it is up to Stiles.

He walks up to the oak.

“Hi again. You’re looking great, nice family of squirrels living upstairs, I see.” Derek snorts behind him but Derek isn’t in charge here. “Just wanted to say, thanks for a great year, hope yours wasn’t too bad. Here’s my offering.”

He dips two fingers in the sticky puddle on his hand and drags them in a line down the tree bark. One upright line, for strength, fertility.

The pine is next, then the hazel and the rowan.

Derek never likes the next part but there’s nothing they can about it. Derek carefully drags one claw across the center of Stiles’s palm, opening a little seam of blood. The blood gets painted on the trees as well, forming a cross. A horizontal line, for stability and sacrifice.

He makes one more circle of the clearing, picking a small twig from each tree. An offering in return for his own.

It looks a little silly, in the end, the two of them naked in the forest, covering the trees with come and blood. But it works. It works because he says it works, because he can feel the rightness of it coming together.

There aren’t so many strange things in the woods these days. The brokenness, the foulness that still lingers from the Hale fire is slowly healing. When the shape-shifters came through town last spring they didn’t stay, the land didn’t welcome them.

He holds the twigs in one hand and reaches out for Derek’s hand with the other. When they get home he’ll tie the twigs together and hang the bundle over the front door.

It might be silly, but it works.


	8. Group D (Without Warnings)

54.  


* * *

55.  
 **Bound To You**

* * *

56.  


* * *

57.  


* * *

58.  


Derek really needs to work on his knotting skills. Not that Stiles is complaining…

* * *

59.  
 **Time For Bed**  
It was no secret that Stiles thought Derek was one sexy werewolf. But nothing turned Stiles on more than when his mate was holding their little werebaby.  
 _Time for bed, little one_ , thought Stiles. Because _boy_ did he have X-rated plans for Alpha Daddy tonight. 


End file.
